


This Old House

by MadMargaret



Series: Willie Loomis World Series [5]
Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horror, Humor, M/M, Vampires, non-consentual bloodsucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMargaret/pseuds/MadMargaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willie Loomis lives in a haunted mansion and works for a scary vampire named Barnabas Collins, who likes to kidnap and brainwash women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows or any otherwise copyrighted material contained herein.  
> A/N: The time period has been altered from the original series. Part I begins in 1956. In 1981, Willie is 24 years old.  
> Barnabas’ telepathic communications to Willie are _underlined and italicized._

**November 1981**

So this is hell. 

Willie remembered how Sister Mary Francis would sneer through her wire-rimmed spectacles, clobber him with a ruler and croak, “You are going to hell, boy!” Well, the old nun was right. 

Sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase in the main hall, the young man looked out the open door at the early morning light filtering through the trees. Not many leaves left. Cold air blew in, but it was crisp and clean. The air inside was just as chilly, but musty and dank. 

Willie and his new boss had moved into the dilapidated mansion the night before. Barnabas had seemed distressed at the condition of the house and at the same time exhilarated at its potential. What Willie saw was that, between the vermin in the basement, cockroaches in the upholstery, and bats in the attic, there was not a safe place to even sit down. 

Vampire and servant had moved the coffin into the basement where it was displayed center stage in the main room. Then, candelabrum in hand, Barnabas showed him other subterranean chambers: the root cellar, the dairy cellar, the wine cellar, the scullery and the kitchen, which had all the charm of a deserted cave. The blackened fireplace took up most of one wall and was big enough to walk in. 

On the ground level were the main entrance hall, a receiving room/parlor, library, ballroom, dining room and the butler’s pantry leading to the servants’ staircase and rear service entrance. 

Upstairs were corridors leading to the nursery and assorted bedrooms. Barnabas pointed out the largest, which had tall windows and even taller ceilings; that would be his dressing room. He paused at a lady’s suite. Willie waited silently in the shadows for him to continue. At the end of the hall, Barnabas peered in an unfamiliar room.

“Bathroom.” Willie explained. The vampire frowned, unimpressed by the concept of modern plumbing and skeptical of running water.

On the third floor were the servants’ quarters, segregated by sex into two hallways. To the left, Barnabas led him past rooms once assigned to butlers and valets to the second to last door. The master explained it was for the under footman. Willie’s accommodations must be modest as to not consume valuable time. The smallest room, next door, was for the stable boy, but that didn’t have a fireplace. 

Left unseen was the attic, which was used for trunk and furniture storage and, from what they could hear, hosting bats. 

As dawn approached, the vampire descended to his basement coffin for the day. He handed his cloak to Willie, who pounded a nail into the wooden beam nearby and hung it out of harm’s way. As usual, Barnabas took his walking stick to bed with him like a damn teddy bear. 

Now the newly appointed handyman was on his own until sunset. He had instructions to begin by cleaning out the master’s suite and his room so they would be able to dress and rest in relative comfort. Then he was to proceed to the main hall and parlor. The only thing lacking was any sort of cleaning supplies. Willie wandered from room to room, exploring, investigating, evaluating. 

He pulled white sheets off the furniture, raising clouds of dust and sending critters in all directions. Well, he would never be lonely in this dump; it was more densely populated than downtown Calcutta. Willie suddenly laughed out loud. If he were a cartoon, all the rats, bats and roaches would dance around and sing songs while they cleaned the house for him. His name could be Cinderfella. 

From rummaging through papers in desk drawers, the young man discovered that this house was inhabited back in 1914. Parts of it looked as if the residents just walked out one day and never came back. The décor was a haphazard mix of 100 or more years, and portraits which spanned generations covered every wall and staircase. Marble statuary lined the main hall. By banging on the wall paneling, he discovered at least three secret rooms or passage ways. It filled every requirement of a haunted house, except the presence of ghosts and that, Willie was convinced, was only a matter of time. There was a rocking horse upstairs that moved, albeit crookedly, by itself. 

He claimed two of the dust-cover sheets, shook off mouse pellets and put them aside for his bed. 

The cellar storage rooms contained no foodstuffs at present but the whole place reeked of mold and mildew. The kitchen drawers housed some useful items and a small mismatch of cracked place settings. There was a rusty water pump which yielded nothing.   
Eventually, he came across a maid’s closet, from which Willie acquired a horsehair broom and copper bucket and headed for the second floor. En route to the master bedroom, he stopped in the mansion’s only bathroom. There was a claw foot bathtub, a sink and mirror, a toilet (devoid of water) with a chain pull, and—another thing to sit on, like a European bidet, only made out of wood. 

After concerted effort, Willie successfully rotated the spindled sink faucets. Air pushed through, followed by a belching spurt and a trickle of brown liquid. He would let that run for awhile; maybe it would get better. 

In what would become the vampire’s dressing room, the servant surveyed the scene in despair. Filth hung from everywhere, the furniture looked unsafe, broken glass and small rocks carpeted the floor. The house obviously had provided hours of target practice for the local lads in search of amusement. Rotten little shits, Willie thought, choosing to ignore the fact that ten years ago, he would have been standing right alongside them. 

He swung the broom at a spider the size of a half dollar which dangled from the bed’s canopy. The rotted material ripped and another layer of decay and dirt tumbled on the bed. Willie’s patience was beyond thin. He swept the broom across the bed, knocking dirt onto the floor and looked around the room in frustration. 

First of all, it was too dark in there to see a damn thing, due to the window dressing: voluminous velvet drapes, still burgundy in the creases but faded otherwise to a dusty rose. They needed to go.

Willie dragged the dresser across the floor to the window and climbed atop. Stretching on tiptoe to reach the supporting rod, he managed to unsecure it from its brackets, when the weight caused it to come crashing to the floor, bringing Willie with it. He landed in miles of filthy fabric which sent a cloud of dust flying up into the room. Something ran out from under the bed and made a hasty exit. Yelling in anger, he shook the pile, which only served to circulate more dust. 

The servant disentangled himself and crawled out of the heap. Great, now he smelled as bad as the draperies. Willie headed to the bathroom where the running water had lightened to pale beige. Then he saw in the mirror he was completely gray, covered in dust. 

_This is stupid; you don’t pay me enough to do this shit._

Then he smiled at the irony. He stuck his head under the faucet to drink and then splashed water on his face. There was no towel, so he dried off with his filthy shirt, spreading the dirt into black streaks. 

Willie grabbed his bucket and broom and made a fresh start in the third floor bedroom. He was suddenly grateful the room was so small. Barnabas was right; it was much more manageable. There were shutters on the window instead of drapes, and he opened them to find the glass was intact. With a little persuasion, the sash flew up, and a peek of sunshine and fresh air graced the chamber. 

Starting at the ceiling corners, Willie knocked the cobwebs down, then raked the broom across the walls and windowsill. Finally, he swept the floor and gathered the dirt into a pile which he attempted to push into the bucket. Pleased with his progress, Willie unrolled the mattress on the narrow brass bed and laid down the sheets, tucking in the corners as he had been taught in school. He dumped his clothes from his duffle bag into the armoire, where he discovered a moth-eaten tuxedo and two shirts with funny collars—the livery of a previous tenant. 

In the bureau he found cuff links and a little white bow tie, shaving mug, brush and strop. On top was a porcelain basin and pitcher. Under the window was a trunk, reminiscent of Jason’s old sea chest, the interior of which was lined with 70-year-old newspaper and contained a striped pillow and wool blanket. The pillow smelled positively putrid, so he tossed it, but he couldn’t afford to lose a warm bedcover. That was squeezed out the window, whereupon he slammed it against the wall to remove the little fuzzy white balls which housed spider eggs and the mouse shit embedded in its fibers. 

On the desk was an empty oil lamp with a hurricane glass top. Inside the drawer was writing paper, a stub-nosed pencil and a stack of letters written in what looked like German or Dutch. There was also an old black and white photograph of a serious young woman in a white dress. Willie took out a sheet of yellowed paper and began to make a list. 

Dustpan   
trash bags  
trash can  
real broom  
scrub brush  
window cleaner  
floor cleaner  
any cleaner  
rags  
paper towels  
ladder  
lamp oil  
lube oil – WD40  
soap - Lava  
dish soap  
Brillo pads  
sponge   
logs  
matches  
candles  
Raid  
mouse traps

His head was starting to nod; he hadn’t slept since—hell, he hadn’t had a decent sleep for a week, just random periods of unconsciousness, riddled with nightmares. Willie didn’t want to close the window and thought instead of starting a fire, even though the little woodpile was crawling with tiny worms. He tossed the rotted logs into the grate, but they wouldn’t ignite. 

He and Jason were on a beach. He couldn’t remember where, but it was nighttime, and they were roasting sausages and trout over a big bonfire. His partner got that one started with driftwood and little twigs and some papers which had to be burnt anyway. It was called kiddlin, and you needed that to get the logs to burn. 

Willie looked at the love letters on the desk but dismissed the thought. Instead he pulled the newspaper liner from the trunk, crumpled it and stuffed it under the logs. The brittle paper went up in a flash and soon the logs began to sputter and pop.   
The boy nestled himself between the dusty sheet and the musty blanket, using his arm for a pillow. He commonly used his Hilton Hotel robe for this purpose but didn’t want it to get dirty from his hair. Christ only knew when he would next see a shower or a washing machine. Barnabas probably wanted him to bang his clothes on some rock by a river. For someone who pretended to be so smart, the vampire didn’t have a clue when it came to a lot of modern things. That’s why he needed Willie. That’s why the young man was still alive. 

As his lids drooped, the room seemed serene and warm. He could hear leaves rustling outside and smell the smoky fire. It was stupid to feel so complacent in this rat-infested shithole but, for the first time ever, the boy had his own bedroom, a private place to call his own. Not a sofa, motel, or a guest room, jail cell, berth or dorm. All his. Maybe he would put a poster on the wall.


	2. Basic Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie works on his job description while adjusting to life at the Old House.

Willie met the boss in the master bedroom and waited anxiously as Barnabas reviewed his list, crossing off the items of which he did not approve. 

“Paper towels. Why would one make towels from paper? Ridiculous.” He crossed it off. “Brillo pads? What are those?”

“For scrubbin’ the kitchen pots. They’re pretty gross.”

“You have already asked for a scrub brush, or are you planning to use it once and discard that as well?

“No, it’s just that—”

“Logs? Why on earth would you buy logs? You go into the woods and you cut them. Have you even looked in the wood shed?” He crossed off Logs and penciled in Axe followed by a question mark. “Raid? I’m afraid to ask.”

“It’s just bug killer.” 

Barnabas crossed it off, remarking that boric acid would be equally effective. “Is there anything else?” Willie looked down and answered softly. “Speak up, boy; don’t mumble. What do you need?”

“Food?” 

“Oh.” The boss smirked. “You wish to be rewarded.” He looked around at the disarray in his room, which actually looked worse than it did on the previous evening. “And yet, I see nothing which you’ve accomplished today to merit compensation. I am sorry, but I cannot condone this sort of work ethic.” 

Willie didn’t want to tell the vampire he had worked on his own room before finishing the master’s. He took a deep breath before proceeding. 

“I’ll do better tomorrow, if I can g-get some cleanin’ stuff. I can g-go shoppin’ in the morning and work all afternoon.”

“And when will you provide my sustenance?” Willie looked puzzled; the vampire translated, taking a step towards him. “See to my needs?”

“At night.” Willie backed away. “A cow, right? Another cow?” _Not me_. 

Barnabas sighed with resignation as he took out his billfold. “I’m far too lenient with you,” he said, handing his worker a $100 bill. “I want the remainder returned with all expenditures accounted for. Do you understand?” 

“Yessir, you mean receipts. And the, uh. . . ?”

“Ah yes. You may purchase one item of food until you prove yourself worthy of more. You will earn your keep in this house.”

“Yessir.” 

Barnabas regarded his grimy servant. “You remarked yestereve that we have a bathing room.”

“Uh—yessir.”

The master cleared his throat. “You have my permission to use it—at the earliest opportunity.”

Willie looked at the money and stuffed it in his back pocket. The last time he saw a $100 bill, he was using it to snort cocaine at a disco lounge in Panama City. 

+++++

That night, Willie and his wire-cutter visited the Haskell Dairy Farm where he made off with their prize heifer. He led it to the fence by the edge of the pasture where the vampire met both and commenced his evening ritual.  
The servant was excused to return home and prepare for his master’s return, whereupon he appropriated logs from the Collinwood shed and attempted unsuccessfully to utilize the parlor fireplace. Even the addition of Barnabas’ discarded newspapers failed to ignite the damp wood. 

One step from useless, Willie could try the patience of a saint; that’s what he was told. An African right off the ship would know how to run a household better than he—at least know how to start a fire. Barnabas was forced to instruct his own servant in the basics of home maintenance. The young man felt, however, that assessment was somewhat unjustified, because he did possess other talents. After all, they wouldn’t have any firewood at all if Willie hadn’t stolen it for him. 

_ And why is there a pillow on the front lawn? _

Later, the master sat in a high-back wingchair by the roaring blaze and elaborated upon his ambitious restoration plans. Willie chose to sit on the floor, wary of what was living in the upholstered furniture and distracted by the curious cockroach traveling the length of the oblivious vampire’s suit jacket. 

Eventually Barnabas dismissed his servant, granting him a candle for personal use. Willie grabbed it and made his way upstairs without having to be told twice. He brushed his teeth and followed it with four glasses of water in an effort to fill the gnawing void in his stomach. 

+++++

He was back in Togo, off the west coast of Africa, sleeping in a grass hut under a tent of mosquito netting. Outside a group of young men laughed at his ineptitude as they built their campfire and proceeded to roast the day’s catch over the flame. The smell was irresistible but he was too tired to rise from the cot. From the shadows and the firelight there came a parade of spiders. Big, brown African spiders, marching in a row, they made uncharacteristically loud shuffling sounds as they strode purposefully into his hut, across the dirt floor, under the netting, up the bedpost, under his covers and up his legs. Soon they covered his body and, one by one, began to bite. He tried to brush and smack them away but there was always more; they kept coming, stinging and itching all over. Willie woke up scratching uncontrollably. 

+++++

_Shoulda put a wind-up alarm clock on that list._

Still, he had saved one fake Rolex watch from his adventures in Atlantic City, how many years ago, and that would do for now. Willie washed up the best he could with cold water, a sliver of hotel soap and a sweatshirt substituting for a towel. He downed another quart of water, dressed in clean clothes and armed with $100, drove into the village where he filled the gas tank, and hit the hardware store and the grocery. 

All day long, Willie scratched and clawed until his skin was raw, but the handyman was determined to have a successful day. He dusted, wiped, mopped and swept late into the afternoon, frequently reminding himself that a can of Beefaroni awaited him on the kitchen table. Shortly before five o’clock, he rinsed and stored his cleaning supplies and ran downstairs like it was Christmas morning. 

He threw open a utility drawer. Then another. Then all of them, followed by the cupboards. SHIT! There was no can opener, and no time to go back to town. He pounded ineffectively at the container with other kitchen tools before tossing it across the room. Minutes before sundown, the boy grabbed his car keys and ran out the service entrance.

Willie knocked tentatively on the kitchen door at Collinwood, then harder when there was no response. He was about to leave when Mrs. Johnson appeared at the entrance. 

“Willie Loomis?” She was shocked to see him at the bottom of the steps. “What on earth are you doing back here? You left town.”

“No, actually, I didn’t. It-It’s a long story. I need your help.”

She shook her head uncertainly. “You remind me more of my Harry every day. Are you in trouble?”

“No—well, I hope not. It’s just—could I borrow a can opener? Please? It’s really important.” 

With an expression of obvious conflict, Mrs. Johnson told the scruffy young man to wait there. He shivered on the doorstep until the housekeeper returned a short time later with an old turn-crank can opener. “Now, take it and skedaddle.” She reached down and patted his head, made a face and wiped her hand on her apron. “You need to wash your hair.” She closed the door without another word. 

He turned and ran down the driveway, tripped and knocked over the trash can, spilling its contents. 

_Shit,_ he was always leaving messes for Mrs. Johnson to clean up. As he scooped the garbage back into the can, his eyes met with an irresistible sight: an apple, only one bite gone, and a half eaten peanut butter sandwich, obviously from David’s lunch. Willie shoved the sandwich in his mouth and munched on the apple as he raced back to the Old House. 

Barnabas was waiting for him in the parlor when he burst through the service entrance door. A ledger was open on the desk where he sat, experimenting with a new-fangled fountain pen. 

“Come here, boy.” Willie complied. “Did I not say you are to be at my coffin the moment I arise each evening?”

The servant shrugged. “I dunno,” to which Barnabas rose and grabbed him by the throat. “I mean, yessir.”

“Where were you?”

“Collinwood. I had to, uh, b-borrow somethin’.”

“And eat from a refuse bin?” The vampire pushed him away, and he lost his balance. “That meddlesome housekeeper probably saw you through the window. A member of my household cannot be seen to beg or accept charity; is that clear?”

Willie got back up on his feet. “Yessir.”

Barnabas sat at the desk, trusty walking stick by his side, and fountain pen in hand. “I will review your accounts now.”

Willie emptied his pockets and dumped a handful of crumpled bills and receipts on the ledger. The vampire gave him a disgusted look and proceeded to decipher their content. 

“What is this?”

“Gas. I f-filled up the pickup tr—”

Barnabas whacked the stick across the boy’s leg, which caused him to flinch and jump back. The master did not look up. “You did not have permission for that expenditure.”

“But I can’t—”

“Do not spend my money without leave to do so. And if you move away again, it will be the worse for you.” The young man hesitantly stepped back to where he belonged. 

Better tell him the rest and get it over with. “I bought a cage—it was important; we need it to trap rats.” Barnabas struck him again. Willie grabbed his leg and inhaled sharply through his teeth, but did not move. 

“You are presumptuous. What else have I purchased without foreknowledge?”

Willie thought hard, recalling the list in his mind. He began with trepidation. “One, just one, D-Duraflame log. It’s so late when I get to my r-room, and they were on sale—Owww.” His eyes watered as Barnabas hit the same spot. 

His master closed the book. “You must learn to plan ahead. Determine what will be the presumable outcome, then the possible one, and prepare accordingly. Our existence depends on it. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Willie felt he would understand better if the boss spoke like a normal person. 

I trust you won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“No. . . sir.” 

The vampire produced Willie’s canned dinner from the desk drawer. “Since you have already indulged in your meal for today, I will safekeep this for you until the morrow.” He rose and donned his wool coat. “Shall we go to work? Tanner’s tonight, if you would. I’m famished.” He left by the front door.

Willie stared at his Beefaroni, for which he had worked so hard that day. He punched the chair in which his master had sat.

“Willie!” 

He left the can opener on the desk, scratched his ribs, and limped out to the truck.


	3. Jackpot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria Winters discovers the new handyman at the Old House. Willie goes shopping.

Willie was in a corridor lit by a succession of ensconced candles on the wall. He had had this dream before. Occasionally the candles were dim, at other times they radiated brightly. There were two openings. One was the door to Barnabas’s mind. Unless the master wanted him, it was always closed. The other portal was to Willie. It was not clear if he even had a door, to ensure that he could never keep a secret from the vampire. 

Now the lambent glow revealed Barnabas’ door gaped open, and his distant voice called out for Willie. He looked in and observed Barnabas returning to the Old House, searching for his servant. The master descended the stairs to the basement and, sensing light and sound emanating from the kitchen, proceeded to investigate. 

A hearty blaze shone in the fireplace, coming from a single log that needed no kindling and left almost no ash. In his vision, Willie watched the vampire, who stood before the fire looking down at his manservant as he lay atop the kitchen table, curled up and fast asleep.

Barnabas poked the boy with his stick and the dream ended. Willie felt the wooden surface beneath him. “Why are you here?” he heard as head came up drowsily.

“Bugs,” he mumbled and went back to sleep. 

The boss poked him again, requiring more of an explanation. Willie sat up, his head still disoriented. “Bedbugs. In the mattress, see?” He lifted, one by one, the three layers of clothes he wore to bed to show the vampire his midsection. Barnabas was taken aback at the distasteful sight of the man’s protruding ribs and sallow skin, pockmarked everywhere with swollen red dots interspersed with scratch marks and fading bruises of green and yellow. Willie noted his reaction and recovered himself in embarrassment.

“Go to your room and sleep on the floor by the fire,” the master instructed.

“I can’t. There’re rats under the bed gonna bite me.”

Barnabas considered his emaciated manservant who looked lost under so many clothes. “Very well. Sleep here tonight if you must. Tomorrow you may trap the rodents and get new straw for your mattress.” Willie nodded . “Oh, if you capture those rats alive, save them for me,” the vampire added as an afterthought.

“Yessir.” Good. _That’s killing two birds with one stone_. 

“For someone who barely reads, you can quote Thomas Hobbes.(1) Incredible.” Barnabas left the room. 

Willie did not go back to sleep. Though that dreamlike door he watched Barnabas pause before his coffin, considering the practicality of finding a new manservant—one who was more obedient and loyal, smarter, more skilled, healthier—someone like Ben Stokes. Two tears ran sideways over Willie’s nose and down his cheek as he wondered how much longer he had to live. 

+++++

Later that morning, Willie stuffed clothes in his duffle bag with lightning speed. That was a skill he did have, one taught to him as a kid many years ago—what Jason called the hasty exit. He wrapped his razor carefully and shoved it to the bottom of his bag when he felt paper. He pulled out a bulging envelope and his jaw dropped. How could he have forgotten there was almost $500 sitting in his bag? This changed the game.

Okay, here’s what could happen: Willie takes off now with his cash and whatever other valuable stuff falls into his pocket on the way out the door. Barnabas knows about it but is helpless to interfere until nightfall, by which time he would be in Boston or Nova Scotia. But, as the bat flies, the vampire catches up, drinks all Willie’s blood, puts his body through a meat grinder and hangs his head on the front door as a warning to other disobedient servants. 

Or . . . 

Willie takes this money and buys all the stuff he wants and needs to get better and stops being such a pain in the ass. Barnabas is thrilled at his reformation and decides to keep him and not Mr. Perfect Ben Fucking Stokes, whoever he is.  
If it doesn’t work out, he could always run away and get killed later. 

Willie stuffed a $50 bill in his pocket and the rest in his shoe, for old time’s sake; It was almost as good as having someone’s unreported credit card, that feeling that you just hit the jackpot and were going shopping. He swung open the front door and screamed. 

Miss Winters screamed too. She stood on the other side of the entrance her hand poised to knock. Victoria backed away in alarm and almost tumbled backwards down the steps. Willie lurched forward to grab her, but she screamed again, her hands flying in his face. 

“Help! Someone, help!!”

The young man backed off as she flailed at him. “It’s okay—I’m sorry! I just didn’t want ya to fall.” 

Victoria leaned against the pillar and caught her breath, glaring at him. “Stay where you are, I have a gun.” She clutched her handbag. 

Willie knew that was bullshit but raised his hands in the air. “Look, I was just tryin’ to help.”

“Or you’re trying to rob this house—Mr. Collins!” She called. “Mr. Collins, come here please!”

“He’s not home. He’s . . . away. On business. Won’t be back ‘till tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“I work here.”

Victoria pursed her lips in disbelief. “Why would Mr. Collins hire a man like you?”

“I dunno.” He looked at the ground. “I helped him out. He had a flat tire out on the road the other night, and I changed it for him.”

She seemed uncertain. “Is that the truth, Willie?”

The young man looked her in the eye, unblinking. “Swear to God.” 

Miss Winters shook her head. “Mrs. Stoddard isn’t going to like this. She would like to invite Mr. Collins to dinner this evening.”

“I’ll give him the message.” Willie saw her peeking past him into the house and blocked her view. “Look, I gotta do some errands in town. Do ya wanna lift back to Collinwood?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, as yet unconvinced of his innocence. “I’ll walk.”

+++++

Willie’s first stop was the department store where he bought a firm, sweet-smelling pillow and the nicest twin mattress and box spring set in the economy section. The salesman threw in a complimentary adjustable metal bed frame, which his customer didn’t need but accepted anyway. 

Then the handyman hit the coffee shop and devoured scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee with lots of cream and sugar. The pretty waitress kept an eye on him, watching for trouble, but he kept his head down and left her a $3 tip on a $2 bill. 

At the drug store he bought a first aid kit, cigarettes and a Snickers bar. If Jason were there, he would’ve purchased Playboy, but you couldn’t even find that magazine in Collinsport. Willie loitered by the magazine rack nostalgically perusing his favorite comic books: Superman, Avengers, X Men, Wonder Woman, Batman—the drawings looked different, but a lot of his old friends were still around. As a kid he spent hours reading at the variety store on the avenue, because he would never shoplift in there. Old man Kramer had eyes like a hawk. 

A man behind the counter cleared his throat. Willie looked around to see the pharmacist, who informed him that this was not the public library. The young man threw a Spiderman comic in his basket and moved along. 

The Goodwill Thrift Store did a booming business that day. Willie bought himself a clean cotton blanket; towel and washcloth; flannel sheets; thermal underwear; sweat pants; jeans; sweaters; work gloves; work boots; a long, red, knitted muffler and an enormous quilted parka. Come winter, he was going to sleep in that. He also bought a beat-up transistor radio, another flash light and a can opener. 

At the sidewalk stall of the used bookstore he spotted a book on home repair and improvement called This Old House. He had to buy that; there was an entire chapter on plumbing that would be very good to know. 

Last stop was the grocery store for canned goods that wouldn’t spoil, a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of rum. 

Of course, the bloodsucker still had to be in charge, so he wouldn’t eat any of that until permitted to do so, but it would be ready. True, he did have breakfast; he forgot about that. So, to make it up, the boy bought a new Bic lighter and a case of Duraflame logs. Strangely enough, Barnabas thought them a wonderful invention and approved their use. That wouldn’t last for long, Willie surmised, when he realized how expensive they were. 

The servant returned home, unpacked and tucked his purchases safely away. His old mattress was hauled down to the wine cellar, which already smelled like something gone sour. He was at the ready by the vampire’s coffin when Barnabas rose, candles lit.  
“Oh,” the master said with mock surprise. “You’re still here. I thought you decided to leave.”

“No, sir.” He quickly changed the subject. “Vicki Winters was here today. She, well, Mrs. Stoddard invited you to dinner tonight. They usually eat around seven.”

“Charming. While I am gone, you may have a small supper. Then I will meet you at midnight at Tanner’s Farm. Is that understood?”

“Uh-huh, I mean, yessir. I’ll be there.” Willie assumed he was dismissed and started to leave.

“Oh, Willie.” He turned back. “Where exactly did you acquire all the money you spent so frivolously today?”

“It’s m-mine, really. Uh, J-Jason gave it to me, to help me out, when I was s’posed to l-leave town.” The boy didn’t know why that came out sounding like a lie when it wasn’t. 

“I see. And how did Mr. McGuire come across such a large sum, I wonder.”

“I d-dunno. B-but I got it from him, I swear. I didn’t steal it.”

“I didn’t say that you had.”

I just bought some stuff I needed so I wouldn’t have to ask you. T-to save ya money.” 

“In that case, your meritorious conduct today pleases me.” To Willie that sounded like something good, so he smiled. 

Tell me, has your bedbug problem resolved itself?”

“Yessir. I hadda get a new mattress ’cause they don’t use straw anymore. But we got bugs in them other beds and furniture too. I’m gonna get rid of ’em tomorrow.” 

“Very commendable. You may go now.” Barnabas flew off. 

Willie breathed a sigh of relief.


	4. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas gets into Willie's personal space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas' telepathic communications to Willie are _underlined and italicized._

_Willie, where are you?_

_Don’t go there, Barnabas; it’s not safe. Come home._

+++++

Willie was in the parlor, barefoot, wearing sweatpants and hoodie. A bottle of disinfectant and cotton balls were on the floor. 

“What has happened?” Barnabas entered and hung up his cloak and cane. “Why are you burning your breeches?”

Willie sat in front of the fireplace poking his jeans into the flames. “They got dogs now at the Tanner Farm—three of ’em—and there was a cop car in the driveway that turned on its headlights.” He shuddered and jabbed harder at the timber. “Dunno if they gotta good look at me or the pickup, but I think maybe they did, they’ll come here. When they see my ripped pants with blood on ’em, they’ll know it was me.”

“Were you injured?”

“Not bad.” Willie showed him the bite marks on his ankle and lower leg. The wounds stung a little but had, for the most part, stopped bleeding. “Mostly got my jeans. Gotta scrub my sneakers next; they’re fulla mud.” 

The servant was perplexed when Barnabas knelt on the floor beside him to give the injuries closer examination. He lifted Willie’s leg slightly and drew it to his mouth. 

“Hey, what the fuck—don’t do that!” He pulled back, scooting across the floor and grabbed at his sweatpants which caught on the rug and didn’t scoot with him. The vampire clamped his hands around Willie’s leg and ran his tongue along the young man’s abrasions. 

“Oh, shit—stop it!” He writhed and kicked until Barnabas grasped the boy’s ankle and pulled sharply, intensifying the pain. Willie yelped. 

“Hold still, you fool. When the authorities arrive tomorrow, you will have no marks, and there will be no evidence.”

The servant sighed, “Okay.” He collapsed onto the floor and squeezed his eyes shut. It still felt creepy. 

+++++

Later, in the privacy of his room, Willie lit the oil lamp and checked out his damaged ankle. If you looked very carefully, you would swear you could see it healing, like a time-lapse sequence in a movie. Okay, that was cool, but Barnabas was just weird. You don’t go around licking people’s legs like that. That was not cool. 

His energy spent, the boy threw some wood in the fireplace, exchanged his hoodie for a tee shirt, and crawled beneath the covers. Reaching to the small table next to his bed, Willie lowered the lamp’s flame to provide a little night light. What a chicken shit he had become. The young thug had been to prison, gone up against pirates and gangsters, but now, after being holed up in a mausoleum for just a few days, all of a sudden he was terrified of the dark. He shuddered at the sounds of floorboards which creaked when there was no footfall, the rustling of wings in the attic, window panes that rattled against the hilltop wind, and unearthly moans that haunted the chimneys. 

Just old house noises, Willie reassured himself as he drifted off to sleep. He was secretly relieved their farmyard adventures had come to an end. Perhaps the nightmares would stop now—the frantic, struggling cow, screaming for mercy, a makeshift leash tethering both the beast and the man as she ambled away, trampling Willie, or dragging him though the mud. Even death would bring no peace to the animal, as she would rise again to seek revenge. Beside her was another cow, and another—all staring at their assailant with hatred and accusation. 

No more cows. No more cows—but what would the alternative be? _Gotta think about that . . . tomorrow . . ._

The fire must have gone out—and the lamp. But, as the room came into focus, the boy realized Barnabas’ silhouette hovering over his bed, eclipsing the light. Startled into a state somewhere between nightmare and consciousness, Willie yelled, scrambled back and became tangled in the bedcovers when he hit the wall. 

“No!” he hollered as Barnabas seemed to fly towards him and, grasping his forearms, pinned him to the wall, where he struggled fiercely at the injustice. “Sanctuary! Sanctu—ary!” 

Willie drew up his knees to push him away with violent thrusts but, undaunted, Barnabas drew him close and twisted the young man’s wrists to fling him back onto the mattress, securing his arms at either side. Willie’s cry of desperation echoed through the empty house. 

“Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” (2) The vampire referred to their earlier encounter in the parlor. “I have not fed this evening.”

“I don’t care! This is MY room—!”

Barnabas continued to restrain his victim. “And you thought what? That here you would be safe from me?” He smiled and licked his lips. 

“It—it’s mine; you can’t—come in here!” 

He bucked and kicked harder, like a wild animal, and with a fury that even knocked Barnabas off balance. The vampire grew tired of this game, and his initial expression of bloodlust changed to that of irritation. He lifted Willie up and flipped him over, sending him face down on the bed. Barnabas held him still and spoke softly in the boy’s ear. 

“You are my slave, to use as I will. You have no rights. You own nothing.” The vampire sank his fangs into Willie’s neck. 

The young man wanted to pass out afterwards, but he didn’t. That gray, fuzzy feeling was there, but not enough to overcome conscious thought. The vampire stood across the room fingering his servant’s possessions—what he had thought were his possessions. His master smiled and spoke genteelly, but Willie couldn’t decipher most of what was being said. His hands were bound to the rails of the brass headboard and, as he struggled to turn onto his back, tangled his oversized sweat pants and twisted the binds so that they dug painfully into his wrists. 

“What are you doing? There’s nothing to bind you there.” Willie brought down his arms, staring at them, unfocused. It had been an illusion. The vampire smiled, almost apologetically. “Calm yourself. That’s just one of my little amusements.”  
Barnabas continued to chat as he perused the letters in the desk, recounting various incidents from Willie’s past, some of which the young thief didn’t remember, and none of which he wished to share.

“I imagine you would rather be restrained in silk ties by a beautiful woman in Central America.” 

“Raquel,” the boy murmured, adding with a note of sarcasm, “Hope ya got an eyeful.” 

The vampire smiled, choosing, once again, to ignore the boy’s disrespect. “What a confidence artist you were, but we change, don’t we? We all change.” Willie nodded as his eyelids drooped. 

“I asked you a question.” Barnabas was standing by the bed, in his face. “Where did you learn the word sanctuary?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled, “from a movie—comic book, maybe. Ugly guy lives in a hunchback. I mean old church.”

“I’m not familiar with it, I’m afraid. Yes, churches are known to provide sanctuary but, you see, you do not live in a church.” 

He patted Willie’s arm with what looked like affection, and closed the door gently as he left. 

_No, I live in hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (2) Quotation from _Romeo and Juliet_ , W. Shakespeare


	5. Pardon Our Appearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are several visitors at the Old House. Al least one of them is a rat.

Willie sat on the window seat that looked out to the front entrance. Dressed in sweat clothes with the red muffler hiding the wounds on his neck, the young man waited for the law to show up, not knowing if the knot in his stomach was in anticipation of talking to a police officer or from his cold breakfast of bitter, black coffee and Spam, which he ate out of the can. He might as well buy dog food next time; it was cheaper and tasted the same. 

With a tarnished spoon, Willie stabbed at the potted meat until it was mush and decided to pretend it was crab imperial. 

_Don’t be guzzlin’ down that delectable feast,_ He imagined Jason was sitting beside him, correcting for the millionth time, the boy’s atrocious table manners. _Enjoy fine food when you can, but don’t get used to it, ‘cause your next meal is goin’ to be slop._

Willie fought to focus his thoughts on such innocuous musings and avoid his real feelings. The vampire, dead or awake, could hear everything he said, spoken or unspoken. He had no right to private emotion and owned nothing, neither his past nor his future. 

A feeling of surreal numbness overcame the young man as he leaned against the window pane and closed his eyes. He was back in that mental corridor, only the lights were dim now and Barnabas’ portal was shut tight. Could he transmit thoughts through the closed door? Willie didn’t know. He turned and crossed his own threshold, envisioning the room in which he sat as if his eyes were open. Upon closer examination, the servant discovered he did have a door, but it was open all the way, all the time. If he shut it, Willie was convinced he would regain some semblance of control over his life. . . 

The boy wrapped his fingers around the heavy, wooden door and pulled. Harder. Using his entire body weight as leverage, he pried the door from where it nested flush against the wall until it moved. It was a fraction of an inch, but it definitely moved.   
Outside the window came the sound of gravel crunching on the driveway. Willie opened his eyes to see a patrol car pull up in front of the house. Deep breath. No big deal, this was just a small town badge. He waited half a minute after the officer knocked before answering the door so it wouldn’t look like he anticipated the arrival. 

“Yessir?” The pale young man looked drowsy and a little confused.

“Sheriff Patterson,” the portly policeman introduced himself and referred to a notepad. “Are you William Loomis?” 

“Yessir. Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“No, ’course not. C’mon in.” 

Willie escorted him into the parlor and scooped his breakfast from the window seat, apologizing for the mess. He offered Patterson a seat and a cup of instant coffee, which the sheriff declined as he, glancing uncertainly about the ramshackle room, got straight to business. 

“I’m investigating some incidents at two dairy farms over the past week or so. Do you know anything about them?”

“Yeah, I read about it in the paper. Somethin’ killin’ off cows?” 

“Or someone. Witnesses say that someone has a white pickup truck.”

“Oh,” Willie replied with sudden realization. “I have a white pickup truck. Is that why you’re here?” Patterson nodded, scrutinizing the stranger. “But a lot of people drive those.”

“That’s true, and I’ll talk to them, too, but you’re the only one from out of town and who has a police record.” Willie looked away in shame. “Ex-con, aren’t you?”

“Yessir.” He flashed big, round eyes and spoke with a hint of distress. “But I didn’t hurt your cows, honest; why should I? I got a g-good job here workin’ for Barnabas Collins, fixin’ up this old house.” The officer again eyed the room with skepticism, taking note   
of the mounds of melted candle wax on every surface, splintered paneling and peeling wallpaper. The servant shrugged. “It needs a lotta work.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday between 11 pm and 1 am? 

“Yeah, I was here, in bed. Mr. Collins can tell you, I been real sick—bronchitis, uh, walkin’ pneumonia, some other stuff. Doc Woodard said I haveta stay in ’cause it’s real contagious.” He coughed in the sheriff’s direction. “Sorry.”

Patterson took a step away, covering his mouth. “Then why were you seen yesterday in several stores?”

“Only ’cause I hadda get supplies. I kept my scarf wrapped ’round my face the whole time,” he demonstrated, covering his nose and mouth, but let the muffler drop when he went into another coughing fit. 

“I’ll be moving on,” the sheriff initiated his retreat then stopped. “One more thing. Let me see your leg.”

“Huh? W-what for?” The lawman gave him a look that said _just do it_ , so Willie put his bare foot on the armrest of the nearest chair and pulled up his sweatpants. 

“How did you know which leg I was talking about?”

Willie shrugged. “I didn’t. Here’s the other one.” He switched legs and saw Patterson observing the bedbug bites. “Yeah, don’t get too close ’cause I gotta that nasty rash all over. We’re not sure what it’s from.” 

The sheriff backed away towards the door. “Loomis, I don’t want to see you in town until all these things are cleared up. You’re going to cause some kind of epidemic.” 

“Yessir, I mean no, sir. I don’t wanna hurt nobody.”

Patterson exited to the porch with an expression of undisguised relief. Willie followed to the doorway. 

“Sheriff? I was just wonderin’. It said in the paper that those cows died from losin’ blood, but who would do that? They said it could be some kinda ritual, like with witches. Do you think that’s what it is?”

“I think they want to sell newspapers and take advantage of over-active imaginations,” he snapped. “Halloween is over; this is the real world.”

“I hope so, ’cause that sounds scary. Bye, Sheriff. Good luck.” 

Willie closed the door and watched from the parlor window as the patrol car pulled away. Talking to the police was always nerve-racking, but there was something about successfully bullshitting someone, especially a cop, that made the erstwhile grifter feel a   
little more like his old self.

+++++

With renewed confidence, Willie devoted the day to casting out those over whom he held dominion: bedbugs, mice, cockroaches, spiders and rats. Although it was obvious the mansion would never be completely pest fee, by nightfall many battles had been won, and in the kitchen, a cage stuffed full of juicy rats was left out for the master’s meal. 

Beside the cage, the servant had placed an empty bucket. “You can put the dead ones in there,” he explained to Barnabas, “like you was eatin’ crabs. Then I’ll dump ’em out in the woods later.” Willie then left the vampire to dine in private, hoping that the rodents would be enough to satisfy him. 

The next day he was cornering a particularly vicious little bastard when there came a knock at the door. He answered it to find his former partner standing there with a small bag in his hand. 

“Pardon, but I heard a rumor that a gentleman friend of mine was stayin’ here, so I’ve come to pay a call.”

“Jason . . .” He retreated slightly into the doorway. “Uh, hi.” 

Willie wasn’t allowed to let people in, especially a visitor for himself, but whatever was in that paper bag smelled damn good, and his olfactory instincts overpowered his better judgment. He stood in the doorway without further comment. 

_Barge in. Go on, push me outta the way, like you always do. I can’t stop ya._ After a moment, Jason did just that. 

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you wearin’ that apron and holdin’ a broom there.” The Irishman took himself into the parlor and sat, always at home wherever he went. 

“The scuttlebutt at Collinwood is that Willie Loomis never left town, like he was paid to do. First, Miss Winters tells us he’s workin’, workin’ mind you, for Mr. Barnabas Collins. Then, doesn’t Mrs. Johnson take me aside and tell me you’ve been lurkin’ at the kitchen door, scroungin’ for food.” 

Willie silently scrutinized the old man, who was looking dapper these days in yet another new suit and spoke like a snob, pretending like he had never eaten out of a trash can. 

“That was an accident. I just went to borrow somethin’.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem proper, does it?” Jason remarked as he tossed the bag at the young man and produced a beer bottle from his trench coat pocket. He popped the top with the opener on his key ring and handed over the ale as well. Willie sat on the floor and tore open the bag. Wrapped in white butcher paper was a warm oyster po’ boy sandwich on French bread. The kind they make at the Blue Whale Tavern. 

Willie paused to let the aroma linger briefly in his nostrils before stuffing his mouth to capacity with the first bite. The older man observed him for a moment before continuing. 

“You’re welcome, and I’m fine, thanks for askin’. I’ve come into a bit of employment meself. Dear Liz has offered me a handsome post in the family business: public relations, and—oh, and somethin’ I’ve always wanted: me very own Swiss bank account.” The Irishman beamed with pride; Willie nodded his approval and took another bite. “There’s only one snag. You were paid to hit the high road, and here ye be.” 

“Mmmjfth.”

“Swallow.”

“This j-job sorta just came along, and I’m not botherin’ anybody. I’m sorry about the money, Jason, I spent it—most of it, anyway.” 

“It won’t do; you still make people nervous, just bein’ here. Liz is most put out about it. She’s asked your Mr. Collins several times now to get rid of you, but he acts like he can’t see to let you go.” 

“I’m doin’ good work. When Mr. Collins is done, he’ll get rid a’ me.” 

“Really. And what service do you provide that could possibly be of interest to Barnabas Collins, I wonder.” He looked suspiciously at Willie who chose to take another bite of sandwich and avoid the question. “Well?”

“I dunno,” the boy shrugged. “I’m pretty good at spottin’ rats.”

+++++

Willie stood dutifully by his master’s coffin at the appointed time of sunset. With feline grace, Barnabas alighted from the casket, caught his servant by the throat and pushed him away. This was becoming the vampire’s traditional greeting. Willie landed on his butt and slid across the room till he hit a wall. 

“What was that for?” The young man rubbed his neck. Barnabas was clearly in need of his equivalent of morning coffee. 

“I do not need to justify myself to subordinates,” he growled. “You will learn your place.” 

“Okay.” The boy got to his feet, brushing dirt from the seat of his pants. “But how will I know what’s right and what’s wrong if you’re gonna hit me either way?” he grumbled. 

“I did not strike you!” The vampire grabbed his shirt front, raising his hand as Willie tried to protect his face. Barnabas waited until the servant lowered his arms before delivering a clout that landed him back on the floor. 

“What’d I do?” Willie whined in confusion. 

“That was for answering back.” Barnabas left the room. 

In the few minutes it took Willie to get up and make his way to the kitchen, the vampire had devoured every single rat. There were fewer caught that day. Barnabas sat at the table, by the light of a single candle, as his attendant picked up the body bucket and placed it by the door, after which he remained on the far side of the room. 

“This is not a permanent solution,” the master said at length, pointing vaguely to the cage, despondency in his voice. “I find it unsatisfactory.”

“I know. I can tell.” Willie sat on the work counter, in the darkness, out of the way.

“What is to be done?”

“W-well, I been thinkin’ about it, if that’s okay.” The vampire nodded. “Ya know, it’s d-deer huntin’ season, they’re just gonna starve out there in the woods if ya don’t thin the herd before winter. Anyway, that’s what I read in the paper. The only problem is, I can’t catch a live deer, so, y-you’d have to do it yourself.” There was no response. “You prob’ly don’t wanna do that.”

“I am weary of animals. I need human blood.” Willie retreated further into the shadows. “Not yours. I want fresh, untainted, human blood.”

_Slightly Soiled, that me._

“But, how ya gonna do that, Barnabas? The police are still lookin’ for that last girl.”

“You will find someone from a different place and bring her to me.”

Willie’s leg started to tremble, even more than the sounds coming out of his mouth. “No. I don’t wanna bury any more b-bodies . . . please. Sir.” 

“The victims need not die, unless I wish it. Their wounds will quickly heal, they will forget the incident and return to their normal lives.” 

“ . . . If you say so.” Willie looked skeptically at the vampire. That had not been his experience thus far. 

“Tomorrow evening, then.”

“I’ll go now.” Willie jumped down from the counter. He didn’t want to go to bed and leave a hungry vampire ever again.


	6. Members Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie becomes the vampire's personal dating service and discovers the disadvantages and perks that come with his new job.

Ten miles outside of town Willie found a suitable dive called Mort’s Bar & Grill. He had a bad feeling going in. The idea of getting some innocent girl drunk enough to pass out and stuff her in his truck just didn’t seem right somehow. Maybe if she were a hooker he wouldn’t feel as bad. At least he could pay her for her time. 

There was live music on Thursday nights, and the sound was deafening. After scanning the room for single women, he approached a blonde with bright pink streaks in her hair, realizing too late that it was Carolyn Stoddard watching her boyfriend, Buzz, onstage with the Rude Mechanicals. Once again, she was drunk off her ass. 

“Willie Loomis!” She screamed, pulling him into the chair next to her. “My favorite guy—I mean, second favorite guy!” she yelled to the stage. Buzz acknowledged by aiming his bass guitar at her, accentuated by a pelvic thrust. 

“Hey, Carolyn,” Willie said uncertainly, “I should go. Your boyfriend don’t want me sittin’ here.”

“Buzz is cool.” She confided in a slurred voice, “Buzz is very cool. So, why aren’t you out with your best buddy pal?”

“Jason and me aren’t friends anymore.” He nervously pulled out a cigarette; his hands were shaking slightly.

“Oh, right! You’re with Cousin Barnabas now.” She winked and took the pack from him, helping herself a smoke. “So, why are you living there?” He lit them both. “The last time I saw you, you were going bye bye. But little Willie, Willie won’t—go home…” She blew a smoke ring in his face. “Well?”

“He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, like in that movie.”

“Uncle Roger says you’re the pool boy. That’s so funny, because Barnabas doesn’t have a pool.” 

“Your uncle was just kiddin’. Mr. Collins hired me to fix up the Old House. I know a lot about carpentry and plumbin’.”

“Well, good—for—you! Because my mother needed just one more thing to completely freak her out. Now, because of you, she’s cancelled her wedding. That’s why you’re my favorite guy!” She threw her arms around Willie, gave him a big wet kiss, then spoke to him nose to nose. “All you have to do now is get that big Irish creep out of our house . . . I’ll make it worth your while.” 

He was going to end up in so many different kinds of trouble, Willie didn’t even want to think about it. He pried her arms from around his neck and grabbed the cigarettes. 

“I gotta go.” The handyman stood as Carolyn pulled at his belt buckle . “You’re drunk,” he said glancing up at the stage. “I know you’re only seeing him to piss off your mom, but, ya know, Buzz is an okay guy. He’s got a nice bike.” 

Carolyn began to bounce in her chair, blow kisses and wave at the stage. “I’m dumping him tonight after the next set.” She pushed the young man away. “Bye bye! Little Willie, go home!”

Willie left the bar wondering if he was that obnoxious when he used to get drunk. He found another truck stop a few miles further down the road. 

+++++

The following evening, Willie drove farther away from Collinsport, all the way to Bangor, which was 50 miles away. That would be a pain in the ass, making two round trips, totaling 200 miles, in one night, but at least he wasn’t likely to run into anyone he knew. Maybe he could do the return trip in the morning. 

He cruised the downtown streets in search of a place which might be frequented by a girl who would be willing to get into a stranger’s truck. _Yeah, right. Whose stupid idea was this, anyway? Add vampire pimp to my job description_. 

Then he spotted it. The Vampire Club. 

The inside looked like something out of _The Addams Family_ , with dark red walls and black drapes, chandeliers and candelabra powered with flame-shaped light bulbs; the phone booth was a coffin. There were strobe lights and dry ice on the dance floor. Vampirella tended bar. 

Willie laughed out loud as he brushed aside a cotton cobweb and pulled up a stool. “I’ll have a rat blood martini.”

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

His smile dropped. “Just kiddin’. Beer’ll be fine.”

There was an equally interesting clientele. Guys and girls, sometimes indistinguishable from each other, dressed up like it was Halloween, with white faces, black eyeliner and candy-apple red painted on their lips and chins. Willie smiled at the thought of Barnabas dribbling like that. 

A pretty, slightly chubby girl approached and sat next him. She had dyed black hair and enormous eyes. 

“You’re not one of us.” She said mysteriously, staring at him. 

“I guess you can tell. Is that alright? I mean, can I stay if I buy you a drink?”

Three Bloody Marys later, she introduced herself as the Countess Bathory. He responded that his name was Igor; he kissed her hand, looked at it, then removed her dragon ring and replaced it on her index finger. 

“That’s what real vampires do.” He told her in confidentiality. 

“What do you know?”

“I know a real vampire.”

“Yeah, who?”

Willie smiled. “You know I can’t tell you that. He would kill me.”

“Are you his slave?” 

He ignored the question, but instead looked about, checking for eavesdroppers, then looked into her eyes. 

“He sent me here tonight to find you.” The young man whispered seductively in her ear, “He wants to drink your blood.” 

She pulled away and stared at him incredulously. Willie held his breath. 

“I’ll get my coat.” 

The vampire’s pimp stood abruptly and pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. “Meet me in the parking lot. White pickup truck.”

+++++

The next night Willie was back on the road to Bangor, banging out Bohemian Rhapsody on the steering wheel. The previous evening’s adventure had gone off without a hitch. The vampire was happy. The countess was happy. Willie was relieved and happy. She had smiled idiotically all the way back to her apartment at 2 a.m., and was humming as he led her up the building steps. She fished out her key and blew him a kiss as he sprinted back to the truck, looking over his shoulder for witnesses.

No police cars came to the Old House the next day. Nothing of the incident was heard on the radio. The whole thing turned out to be a good idea, so he was going to try it again. Willie pulled into the parking lot of the Vampire Club at 8 o’clock the following evening. 

His truck barely missed hitting a ghoul. Willie guided the pickup at a snail’s pace to the center of the lot, parting a sea of gothic re-enactors that had gathered and were waiting for him. They clamored as he descended from the cab and mobbed him like a rock star until he escaped by climbing into the truck bed. The young man stood there staring in disbelief at the hoard of willing victims who had seen Frank Langella in the sexy _Dracula_ movie and wanted some of that action in real life. 

Willie held his hands up. “Hey everybody, listen,” he said too quietly, unaccustomed as he was to public speaking. This caused a roar, cheering and shouted questions. He looked around nervously, fearing that the ruckus was definitely going to attract unwanted attention. He took a deep breath. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he shouted, his heart pounding. The crowd silenced and looked expectantly at him. “If you got a question, raise your hand.”

He proceeded as best he could, making up answers as he went. Yes, boys were okay as well as girls. No, there was no age limit, as long as they were at least 18. Hell, Barnabas had bitten that grandpa in the cemetery. How picky could he be? 

“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m taking one of yous tonight. Just one.” The crowd protested as the boy lifted Vampirella into the truck with him. She may have been the bartender, he wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter; she was really hot, even wrapped up in her high-collared cape. “But, come back tomorrow—same bat time, same bat channel—and I’ll bring instructions so everybody can have a turn.” The group roared with disapproval. 

“Come on, you guys, knock it off!” he shouted in frustration. “There’s gotta be some rules here!”

Willie waited in the cab with Vampirella until the crowd dissipated. She lit a joint and offered him a toke.

“No, thanks, I gotta drive.” Then Willie realized what he had just said. He really was different. _Ch-ch-ch-changes_. 

“So, I get to meet a real vampire. Score for me.” Smoke was starting to fill the darkened cab as she appraised the young man staring dutifully at the clearing parking lot, his left leg twitching. Maybe he was gay. “What do you get out of this?”

Willie tried not to gawk at the bodacious brunette. “Nothin’ I guess.” 

“My job sucks too. I live on tips.” She put the joint in his mouth. “Just a little hit.” He obediently took a little hit. “How about you? Do you accept tips?”

The young man swallowed, and his eyes widened as Vampirella’s hand reached out and turned his face to hers. “I dunno.” 

“I’m a big tipper.” 

Willie considered the situation ever so briefly. He didn’t want to get in trouble, but the boss never said he couldn’t “accept tips.” And, oh God, it had been so long. He never even packed condoms in his pocket anymore. “I d-don’t have anything—you know—”

“That’s okay, I do.” She pulled one out of her ample cleavage. “Cherry flavor.”

+++++

The following evening he handed out slips of paper with numbers and dates on them. Each person was to meet him in the parking lot on a specific day at 8 p.m. sharp and should arrange to be picked up at the same place at 1 a.m. by a designated driver. 

Willie would drive the lucky victim back east and blindfold them as they entered the sleepy village. They seemed to like that, as it added to the suspense. He would then escort the guest through the service entrance and into the ballroom. That particular room had been chosen for these rendezvous for a number of reasons, but mainly because there were no immediate renovation plans, and it reeked of atmosphere. 

The walls were lined with period murals and full length mirrors, and the vampire’s lack of reflection added to his credibility. It was furnished only with a red velvet chaise and a harpsichord, both adorned with authentic cobwebs and lit only by a candelabrum and whatever moonlight shone through the towering arched windows which looked out upon the terrace. The gothic guests never failed to be impressed. 

Willie would leave them for just long enough and, with a flourish of his cape, the vampire would make his entrance. The cloak, it was determined, was essential to the mood of this piece. Barnabas would serenade his date with Mozart’s _Fantasy in C Minor_ on the harpsichord, with which they were invariably enraptured. Willie, however, heard the same fucking song every night because, apparently, the master had a repertoire of one. At long last the meeting would climax as victim and vampire joined in their unholy alliance and, a short nap later, the guest would awaken to find the vampire gone and Igor waiting to drive him or her home. 

Willie saw the advantages of this scenario. Most importantly, no one was harmed; on the contrary, everyone seemed quite pleased with the arrangements, and the ravenous vampire had no reason to invade the privacy of his servant’s bedroom. The only drawback was the time he spent on the road and the wear and tear on his clunker vehicle. Some rides held him prisoner with inane conversation; others came with big tips. Barnabas never mentioned the tippers, so the chauffeur felt it safe to presume that it was an acceptable practice.


	7. Maggie Evans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie takes a shine to a pretty diner waitress, but so does his bloodsucking boss.

Willie afforded himself an additional luxury—each morning he would go to the coffee shop, get the newspaper for his boss and order the $1.99 breakfast. Every time he left a $5 bill for the pretty waitress. They never spoke until one day, when he tucked only three dollars under his plate. 

“What’s the matter, did I do something wrong?” Maggie joked. “Thanks to you I’ve been making regular payments on a snazzy red convertible.”

Willie focused his gaze on the congealing ketchup which streaked his plate. “Sorry, I kinda ran through my cash.” 

She cleared the dirty dishes. “It’s okay, I was just kidding. I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t see you anymore.” 

To Willie, that sounded like a bullshit line. Why would the girl care if she ever saw him again when he was broke?

He looked into her cheerful face and made eye contact for the first time. She had to remember that he was the obnoxious drunken asshole who insulted her at the Blue Whale and picked a fight with her boyfriend. Maggie was too nice and classy to ever mention it, though. Inexperienced at polite conversation, the young man looked away again. 

“I guess I’ll still get the paper for Mr. Collins,” he muttered.

“Good.” She winked at him. “You know, I think my picture’s in there today,” the waitress chirped happily as she wiped the counter. “It’s funny. When I worked the late shift, Mr. Collins would come in every night for the newspaper. Now I’m on the early shift, and you’re here each day.” She laughed. “I think you guys are following me.”

Willie smiled awkwardly and fumbled for his copy of the Collinsport Star. “Next time I hit the jackpot, I’ll come back for breakfast.” He strode briskly toward the door. 

“It’s a date,” Maggie called after him. “Meanwhile, I’ll see you up at the Old House.”

She probably flirts like that with everyone. Willie imagined old guys would eat that up that crap and she enjoyed the attention, like girls do, but he froze on the sunlit sidewalk when the full impact of her words hit him. Why in hell would Maggie Evans go to the Old House? The young man raced home, convinced that his bloodsucking boss was up to no good while Willie had been busy playing chauffeur to Goth girls. 

+++++

There was a worn, wooden easel nestled in a corner of the parlor. How long had that been there? How did Willie not notice a big ass thing like that? On display therein was a preliminary sketch on stretched canvas—what would become a portrait of Barnabas. The pose was similar to the one which hung in the foyer at Collinwood, except for the modern clothing.

I hope you’re not gonna talk to me too. 

The box of paints on the table read Evans on the lid, and the rest wasn’t hard to figure out. Maggie’s father was Sam Evans, a local artist. Barnabas had hired him to paint the portrait, obviously in order to see Maggie, who would have to drive the old sot because he had probably lost his license. That’s why she would be at the Old House. But why should the vampire bring her here with her dad around the whole time? That part didn’t make sense. 

The young man spread the newspaper out on the floor to look for Maggie’s photo. Usually he only read the funny pages and the headlines, looking for reports of attack victims. Her photograph, however, was on the Society page—a romantic pose with pretty boy Joe Haskell followed by the caption announcing their engagement. He looked at the picture for a long time with a pensive mixture of emotions. Then he clipped it out, up the middle to exclude Haskell, and stored it in his desk drawer along with the German love letters. 

The following morning Willie went to buy the daily newspaper, but the coffee shop was closed. So were the grocery store and the bank. Must be Sunday, he figured, or some holiday; it was difficult to keep track anymore. The servant returned home empty-handed, opened the last can of beans and began his work, which that day was scraping the wallpaper in the parlor. He covered the portrait with a sheet so it wouldn’t get hit with flying plaster, and he didn’t like the vampire watching him. 

Barnabas rose at his usual time and went to the great house at Collinwood to dine with his extended family. His servant was to head over to Bangor and meet him later with the real meal, but it took more than two hours to get there. Willie was trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic and forced to listen to Christmas carols. Great, for how many weeks would the airwaves be clogged with _Frosty the fucking Snowman?_ It would help if there were more than two radio stations in the area. 

It was well after 9:30 when Willie reached his destination, by which time the parking lot was deserted. The donor probably got cold waiting outside and headed for the relative warmth of the Vampire Club, but the bar was closed. The shivering young man waited in the truck for another half hour before giving up and heading back to Collinsport. _Shit!_ Willie hit the steering wheel. He had scored zero the entire day. If the vampire didn’t have a willing victim on which to sup, he would take an unwilling one. _And guess who that’s gonna be._

Barnabas was reading by the fire when his servant stomped in, looking pissed. 

“Do you know the hour?”

“Your dinner didn’t show up, traffic sucked, and everything’s closed,” Willie snapped.

“I see,” the master replied with his customary composure. “That is why I returned to find no fire, no candles lit, no newspaper, and now you tell me, no guest for the evening. Let us not mention this ladder in view, tools lying about and debris covering the floor.”  
Willie took a deep breath and struggled to keep his comments in check. “Barnabas, when you lived here way back when, how many people did you have workin’ for ya?”

He considered the question. “Perhaps five and twenty.”

“Well, now you got one and zero to do all those jobs and this restorating stuff—which is gonna suck, ‘cause I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’—and then you want me to be your part-time blood donor and full-time pimp. So, here.” He plopped on the floor next to Barnabas and thrust his arm in the vampire’s direction. “You’re gonna take it anyway. Just do it now, but don’t come in my room anymore.”

“That will not be necessary. I overtook a deer while traveling home.” Willie’s arm came slowly back down as he looked up in surprise. “Well, how long was I supposed to wait?” 

“How was it? Okay?”

“A bit gamey, I thought.” Barnabas returned to his book. “You should retire, Willie, you obviously had a trying day.” 

“No shit.” The vampire looked up, eyebrows raised. “I mean, yessir.” 

Willie rose and plodded upstairs, slightly confused that there was no retaliation for his mouthing off like that. Especially when at other times he’d get hit for no reason at all. The boy was having a cold wash up at the sink when he had a vision of Barnabas downstairs. He was in the library looking up the word _pimp_ . 

+++++

The larder was bare, and by the following afternoon, Willie was hungry enough to raid Collinwood’s trash bin again. Of course, a proper servant couldn’t do that, but maybe he wouldn’t have to. With a handful of change (which was the last of his cash) and the old turn crank tool, he knocked at the big house’s delivery door. Again Mrs. Johnson answered. 

“Now what?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am; I wanted to return the can opener, and here’s the two dollars I borrowed.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“A few weeks ago, remember? I told you I had a library fine, but that wasn’t the truth.” He looked at his feet, ashamed. “I went to the Blue Whale.”

“I know you did. Do I look like a fool?”

“I’m sorry.” He held out the borrowed items and sniffed the air, his eyes big and round. Mrs. Johnson stole a look down the hall before yanking him inside to the kitchen. 

Willie sat at the table as Mrs. Johnson poured him a glass of milk. “You didn’t have to bring back that old can opener; I never use it anymore. I have a fancy electric one.”

“I bet that’s nice.” 

He was getting old to pull the scrappy orphan bit, but figured it would still work on an old lady. She watched the boy greedily gulp his milk. 

“I made turkey noodle casserole. Would you like some?”

Willie smiled shyly. “Oh, yes, ma’am. It sure does smell good.” 

The housekeeper dished up a generous helping. “How was your Thanksgiving? Did you go home?”

“Huh?” He looked up. _That’s why everything was closed_. “Oh—uh, no—I don’t really have what you’d call—”

“Now I asked Mr. Collins yesterday if I should send a plate over for you, and he said not to bother. So I figured you were visiting with your family.” Willie shrugged. Barnabas could be such a dick. 

Mrs. Johnson and her visitor both had agendas that were fulfilled. Willie got a hearty hot meal, and Mrs. Johnson got what she thought was the lowdown on the eccentric Mr. Collins and that drafty old house with no electricity, phone or heat. The handyman beamed with pride when reporting that he was reading up on how to do plumbing and was getting pretty good at it. Mrs. Johnson looked at him, her brow furrowed. 

“And you’ve been there how long? When was the last time you had a bath?”

Willie scratched his head. “Dunno. When I was stayin’ here, I guess. It’s okay, though, I got soap and water at the Old House; it’s just hard to get my head under the sink. It’ll be better when I get the pump to work.”

The housekeeper did some figuring in her head before she spoke. “You come back here Tuesdays and Fridays in the afternoon. The men’s section of the servants’ quarters is closed off so no one will know. You can take a shower and get a decent shave—but you will not leave me a mess, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Bring your dirty clothes on Tuesdays, that’s when I do the laundry.” 

Willie pushed the bowl away with a sudden bad feeling that he had carried this too far. “I can’t. Mr. Collins said I’m not allowed to accept charity.” 

Mrs. Johnson snorted her disapproval. “Then Mr. Collins should provide decent living conditions for his employees.”

Willie shook his head. “I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Alright then, you can work for it. There’s a whole woodshed of logs that need to be cut. I was going to hire a local man but this will work out just fine.”

It was an offer that Willie could not refuse. “Sure, I’ll try, but I’m not much good with an axe.” 

“What axe? We have an electric chainsaw.”

+++++

Willie was feeling pretty confident as he headed for the coffee shop. All cleaned up and shaved with fresh clothes, he planned to talk to the pretty waitress today and, for once, not be embarrassed by his appearance. But it was Maggie who didn’t look so hot. She wore a scarf around her neck and had dark circles under her eyes, like from a hangover or something. She was probably at a big engagement party last night. Willie sat on the last stool at the counter and watched as she spilled coffee on a customer.

“Shit.” 

The customer looked up in surprise at hearing the uncharacteristic expletive. It was Joe, her fiancé. 

“It’s alright, Maggie, I’ll get it.” Pretty Boy took the dishrag and wiping up the counter as she paced to the other end, mopping the cold sweat from her brow. She spotted that little creep staring at her.   
“Are you going to buy something or just sit there?” She snapped.

“Sorry.” Willie tossed a quarter on the counter and grabbed a newspaper on his way out the door. 

The rest of his day was pretty typical—a couple of rounds wrestling with the kitchen pump followed by SpaghettiOs for dinner. When his thoughts returned to Maggie, he concentrated instead on closing that door in his mind. If he was falling in love, he certainly didn’t want the vampire to know about it. Well, maybe not love, but he thought about her a lot. He shoved the door another inch towards its goal.


	8. Call it a Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie's ingenious plan for feeding his vampire boss goes belly up when one of Barnabas' blood donors lands in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas' telepathic communications to Willie are underlined and italizied.

Willie left for Bangor early the next evening, anticipating more heavy traffic from Black Friday and the holiday weekend. The Vampire Club was open, but there were very few cars in the parking lot. When he sat at the bar, the other customers moved away. Only Vampirella would come anywhere near or speak to him. 

“What’s goin’ on? I got stood up tonight,” Willie said looking at his former fans, all of whom now declined to make eye contact. “What do I got, plague or somethin’?” 

“Yeah, looks like the party’s over.” Willie turned to the bartender. “It’s because Gene is sick in the hospital. People are thinking that he got some kind of blood disease from your vampire, so now they’re running like rabbits. Look at this place: Friday night and only a handful of customers.” 

Willie got the man’s last name and the location of the Eastern Maine Medical Center and took off. If this guy caught something that could be traced back to Barnabas, they were all fucked. 

Visiting hours were almost over when Willie arrived but he slipped in anyway and found Gene sitting up in bed. He recognized the delicate young man from a week ago, maybe two. Now he looked extremely pale and thin, like a skeleton covered with skin and hooked up to a bunch of monitors and an IV. 

“Hi, Igor,” Gene smiled weakly. 

Willie ignored the patient’s sickening appearance and flashed a broad grin. 

“Hey, buddy, I hear you’re not doin’ so good. Prob’ly just got the flu or somethin’.” He moved the boy’s food tray and sat in the chair next to him. 

“They don’t know, but there’s something in my blood.”

“You’ll be fine,” The visitor looked around for eavesdroppers, then confided quietly. “But those doctors won’t be able to figure it out, so they’ll call it a disease.”

“I feel so ill; I can’t eat.” 

Willie remembered how Vicky Winters had helped him take nourishment when he was nauseated.

“I can fix that; watch.” he put a bendy straw in the juice carton and covered the opening with his hand. “Don’t smell it, just drink.” Gene waved him away. “C’mon, ya gotta have somethin’ or you’re gonna die. Now, ya don’t want that to happen.” 

“I’m scared.” 

“I know. I was sick too at first, but I got better, see? It’s gonna be okay, ’cause ya got me to help ya out.”

Gene’s eyes started to water. “I thought I was all alone.”

“No, ’course not.” Willie looked away as his leg started to twitch. “I mean, ya got your family, right? And friends who care about ya.”

“My aunt put me in here. My parents don’t speak to me, I haven’t seen them in years, and my friends won’t come—they’re all afraid . . .”

“Well, they’re stupid.” Chimes sounded in the hallway, as the visitor jumped to his feet. “Listen, time’s up, I gotta go, but I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Lemme know what ya need.” 

“A hug.” 

The young man stiffened. “ . . . O-kay.” _Christ, I hope he’s not contagious._ Willie was not good at the hugging thing but he did his best. “Get some rest, will ya? And take some drugs or somethin’. I’ll see ya later.” 

+++++

Willie collapsed on the first bench outside the hospital and took a deep breath. 

_Barnabas, I can’t come home tonight. There’s a problem._

_ Can you remedy it? _

_I dunno. I’m gonna try._

_Do whatever is necessary._

The young man lit a cigarette and stared at the neon light from a bar across the street. Barnabas didn’t even inquire as to the nature of their dilemma. _Just fix it, Willie. It’s all on you._ The first thing he deemed necessary was a double rum at the Recovery Room Tavern. 

Willie spent a restless night in a nearby motel and the next morning went to the bank and withdrew $2,000 from his boss’s account to pay the hospital bill. He spent the remainder of the day at the boy’s bedside, feeding him, watching him sleep, holding his hand. 

A staff nurse came by periodically to take vital signs. She sneered at the young men, drawing her own conclusions, but Willie didn’t care about the nasty bitch thought. He had to do this. For some reason, Gene reminded him of a sissy kid he punched in the school yard, and it was payback time. 

But he was really afraid of what Karma was going to do to him for tricking dozens of innocent people into becoming the vampire’s victims. What if was a disease, and it was contagious, and they got sick too? Just because he had been foolish, how many others was he prepared to drag down with him? 

By the end of the day, Willie knew he had to return home to the Old House, where a whole other problem awaited: how was he going to feed the vampire now that his ingenious plan went belly up? He ducked out while Gene was sleeping, leaving a note to say he would keep in touch. Willie wanted to think that was the truth, but he knew better. 

He stopped at the coffee shop for a newspaper on the way home. It was after Maggie’s shift but he went anyway. The grumpy girl behind the counter was on the phone complaining about having to work a double. Maggie must really be sick, Willie thought. Nobody has a hangover for two days. 

+++++

“You did what!” The master examined Willie’s expenditures for the previous 24 hours. “You paid that man’s hospital bill? He has an unidentified blood disorder and you linked him to me. Are you insane?”

“Nobody’ll know. I-I paid cash, and that hospital don’t know us from Adam. Neither does the guy, Gene.” Willie smiled sheepishly. “He thinks my name is Igor.”

“I cannot believe you took it upon yourself to withdraw money from my accounts. The bank just _handed_ it to you?”

“I had a withdrawal slip that you signed.”

The boss looked confused for a moment. “Am I to understand you forged my signature to a document?”

“Well, yeah, I do it all the time. How do ya think I pay your bills?” Barnabas became increasingly irritated at the audacity of his servant. “Look, they’re all right here.” Willie pulled a stack of bank statements from the bottom drawer of the writing desk. 

Barnabas perused the pile of cancelled checks. “You obviously have taken great pains to hone this unlawful skill,” he replied sharply. 

“Yeah, I even do the swirly things at the ends. You know ya write like a girl.”

The vampire tossed the papers aside. “I gave no such permission, and I do not approve of you mishandling my funds.”

Willie pouted. “I didn’t steal nothin’. I wouldn’t—’cause you would know. But ya can’t pay for stuff just by throwin’ pieces of old jewelry at me and puttin’ it down in your book.” The boss looked increasingly frustrated. “Fine, so you write the checks from now on. I thought ya didn’t wanna be bothered, you’re always so busy. Doin’ what, I dunno.” 

Barnabas slammed the ledger closed. “Boy, you are the most insolent servant I have ever owned. This is what comes of trying to rehabilitate a hardened criminal.” 

Willie backed away. “Don’t be pissed—sir—I was just tryin’ to help.”

“By plundering $2,000 of my money?”

“ _Do whatever is necessary_. That’s what ya said.”

The servant continued his retreat, but it was Barnabas who was cornered by his own words. He was reluctant to let this misdeed go unpunished but, in all honesty, the vampire _was_ preoccupied with another matter. Soon Willie would find out what that was.


	9. Be Our Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas is up to his vampire shenanigans, Willie get in trouble and Victoria doesn't understand. In other words, a typical night in Collinsport.

Willie almost choked on his chewing gum when he saw a ghost float down the stairs wearing a fragile, faded gown. Her face was obscured by what looked like a bridal veil, and she carried a little glass music box that played a creepy tune. 

Barnabas was oozing charm as he led her into the parlor. “This is my beloved bride and your new mistress, Willie. Her name is Josette DuPres. You’ll recognize her from the portrait in my lady’s bedchamber.” 

_One night I’m away from the Old House and he starts pullin’ this shit._

The vampire guided her to a seat and lifted the veil to reveal a very much alive, auburn-haired young woman in an obvious trance. 

“Oh my god, th-that’s Maggie Evans!” The spectre was startled at the sound of her former name. Barnabas held up his hand to silence his servant.

“Perhaps at one time, but nevermore. You must call her Miss Josette.”

 _Like hell I will, you crazy fu—_ A sharp look from Barnabas cut off his thought. “Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea. We could get in big trouble. Maggie, she got her dad and a lotta f-friends that are gonna come lookin’ for her.”

“At first, but eventually they will conclude that the girl is dead, and their search will desist.”

“But why Maggie?” Willie continued to pester his boss. “She don’t even look like that picture upstairs. I think ya could do better. Did ya ever notice she’s a little cross eyed?”

“This discussion is at an end. You will go to Sam Evans’ cottage now and inform him that our sittings are to be suspended until further notice. Then return here immediately. I am going out, and Miss Josette must not be left unattended.” Willie opened his mouth to speak again but Barnabas cut him off. “Do you understand?” 

The boy looked away, defeated. “Yessir.” 

_Great, now I’m assistant kidnapper. I hate this damn job._

“I have no interest in your feelings of animosity, so kindly put them from your mind. Be sure when you return that Miss Josette has a proper dinner. You may purchase something in the village and charge it to my account.” Barnabas swept out of the room. 

Willie sat beside the pale-faced young woman, feeling helpless. “Hey, Maggie, you wanna eat? Anything ya like.” He passed his hand in front of her face. “Want some Chinese? Pizza?”

“Josette . . .” She seemed dazed and confused.

_Oh, Christ._

+++++

Willie knocked at the Evans’ house, and Vicky Winters answered. She did not invite him in so he waited on the front step while his message was relayed. Sam Evans was slumped in his chair with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. Burke Devlin was on the telephone speaking to the police about forming search parties. Joe Haskell, with puffy red eyes, sat on the sofa, his head buried in his arms. Vicky stood, wringing her hands.

“I don’t think Mr. Evans will be back to work for a while. His daughter was very ill and now she’s missing,” Vicky explained to him.

Willie looked distraught. “Gee, I’m sorry. I-I hope she’s okay.” 

The boy backed away, sprinted to the truck and raced home. He knew this would happen and had tried to warn Barnabas not to choose her. Not just because he— _liked_ Maggie. That square-jawed look on Devlin’s face made it clear: These people were not about to give up, they would turn the whole town upside down to find her, and he and the vampire were going to get caught. The only thing to do was to return the girl, to save her life and protect his master. Barnabas will be mad, but he would get over it, and then he would find someone else. 

When Willie returned to the Old House, he discovered that Barnabas had left for the evening and Maggie had changed into a flowing white nightgown and was wandering the second floor. He had no idea where the young woman’s real clothes were, so he pulled the parka from his closet and led her out the side entrance. 

“C’mon, babe, we’re goin’ for a ride, but ya gotta bundle up, it’s cold out.” He pulled the hood up over her head and loaded her in the vehicle. “And we don’t want nobody to see ya in my truck.” Willie drove around until he found an empty street with a phone booth and pulled over. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

Willie jumped out of the pickup and into the booth. He flipped through the White Pages to find the Evans’ phone number, dropped a dime and dialed. Busy signal. Shit. Devlin was probably still on the phone. _Hang up, you asshole_. He was about to try again when something white and blue glided dreamily past the phone booth. 

“Fuck! No! Get back here!” He dropped the receiver and tore down the street after Maggie. Guiding her into a U turn, he led the girl back and stuffed her into the booth with him. Willie locked arms with his right and dialed with the left. Victoria answered the telephone. 

“Find Maggie Evans,” he said into the mouthpiece, deepening his voice to its lowest timber. As an afterthought, he pulled Maggie’s arm to him and covered the receiver with the sleeve of his quilted parka. 

“Who is this?”

“Never mind. If ya wanna save your friend, go to—” _someplace deserted, no witnesses_ “—Eagle Hill Cemetery.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just go! She’s in a lotta danger.” He slammed the receiver and pushed Maggie toward the truck, feeling more nervous with each passing second. 

Willie had no sooner escorted the young woman within the cemetery gates when he heard shouts and saw flashlights. Red and blue police car flashers could be seen in the street. There was a whole search party, and they were spreading out. Looking quickly around, the boy guided his charge to a nearby tombstone that looked sturdy enough to support her.

“You sit here, and they’ll find ya, okay?” He placed her hands on either side of the stone. “Don’t fall over; hold on.” Willie grabbed his flashlight and started to leave, but first he kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered quickly and ran for his life. 

But it was too late; there was no escape. How could so many people be that organized and get there so soon? There was only one place he could hide until they were gone: the secret room in the Collins crypt. Willie pulled the mausoleum gates closed behind him, tugged the ring and fidgeted nervously as the stone door slowly opened. Jumping in, he pushed the secret panel in the step and closed it again. 

He stood frozen, listening to the shouts for his surrender outside the tomb, then slowly backed into the pitch black room as he pulled the flashlight from his pocket. Something soft impeded his progress, and Willie reached behind him to feel a familiar wool coat. He looked over his shoulder and shone the beam up into a pissed off vampire face. 

Willie almost yelled in surprise but Barnabas clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed the flashlight, flicking it off. “Quiet, you idiot,” he hissed. After a moment he released his servant who, needing to distance himself from the vampire, silently made his way to the steps and sat. His left leg twitched uncontrollably. 

The minutes passed, and while Willie could not keep still, Barnabas never budged. It was too dark to see the vampire’s expression, but had he been a bookie from the old neighborhood, Willie would have laid even odds that he was about to get the shit kicked out of him. 

At length, Barnabas determined the danger to be past, flicked on the flashlight and set in on the steps, dimly illuminating the empty room. He stared down at Willie, the vampire’s eyes bespoke heartbreak, anger and frustration. The servant could stand it no longer and broke the silence. 

“You know what I did.”

“Yes.” His master’s voice, as always, was restrained and unemotional. “You betrayed me.”

“Wanna know why?”

“I know why.”

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t ya?”

“Yes.” 

The boy swallowed. “Fast or slow?”

“It will be slow.” With that Barnabas swung his cane and the pointed wolf’s head made contact with his servant’s face. A spurt of blood hit the floor just before Willie did. 

+++++

Willie woke up on the cold flagstone floor to the feeble beam of the dying flashlight. The scene was similar to his first encounter with the vampire, only then he had been grateful to be alive. Now he wished he was dead. 

He was supposed to be dead. Perhaps Barnabas was not finished torturing him first, although Willie was unsure of what more the vampire could do. His entire body was covered in swollen bruises and welts, and the tattered remains of his clothing were glued to him with dried blood. The boy spied the outline of his jacket lying across the room, but couldn’t move far enough to retrieve it. He would probably just lie there until he died; that would be slow. Willie closed his eyes and waited for his life to end. 

Hours later, he awoke once more, but the flashlight had exhausted its power and the room was shrouded in blackness. Stiff and numb from the cold, Willie again wished for his jacket but he could no longer see where it was, knowing only that it was beyond his reach. 

The door to the secret chamber swung slowly open to reveal Barnabas, surveying the situation, his caped form silhouetted in the meager moonlight. 

“There you are.” the vampire remarked lightly. 

“Not dead,” Willie mumbled. 

“I am all but struck dumb by your grasp of the obvious,” the master quipped as he descended the steps. “Well, we can’t have you lying about all night, so it’s time to come home, young man.” Barnabas picked up the jacket and lifted Willie by his upper arm as the servant cried out in pain. “Oh, let’s not start that again. Be thankful I decided that this was an inconvenient time for you to die.” Willie was half dragged and half carried back to his truck where he cautiously steered the vehicle back to the Old House, his home. 

+++++

Willie spent the next few days sequestered in his room. He bolted the door from the inside, although it was unnecessary; no one bothered him or gave a rat’s ass if he was okay or not. 

_You’ve yourself to blame, no other._ That’s what Jason would have said. _Tryin’ to be a hero. When will you ever learn? It’s every man for himself._

At night he laid in bed, curled into a ball with the cover over his head. During the day the servant sat, wrapped in the same blanket, in the corner near his window where the sunlight came in. He gingerly fingered the gash on his face with a swollen hand that came from foolishly trying to ward off the blows. Luckily, it wasn’t broken. 

Eventually Willie ventured to the second floor bathroom to refill the water pitcher, a trip he had been postponing because the last thing he wanted to see was his reflection. He knew what it would look like—the ugly hunchback guy. Holding the oil lamp to the mirror he tried to objectively assess the damage in the distorted shadows. So much for what the Irishman used to call his moneymaker. In addition to the contusions, a scar ran diagonally up his cheek and across his forehead. In the past there were times when Willie thought of himself as confident and good looking. Now he was nothing but a cowering, stuttering freak. 

Barnabas appeared at the threshold to Josette’s room, and on his arm once again was the entranced bride to be. The vampire smiled with civility. “Oh dear, you are a sight. All that effort to save Miss Evans, and look what happened. She returned to me.”

 _That’s because you kidnapped her again._ The hollow-eyed woman, again, seemed to have no idea who or where she was. 

“This is where she belongs. Don’t you, my dear?” Maggie smiled seductively as Barnabas kissed her fingertips; Willie observed her vacant expression as the girl glided into her bedroom and reclined on the chaise. 

“Is she always gonna be like that? Like sleepwalkin’?”

“It is, no doubt, a period of adjustment. When we are united, she will become Josette completely.”

_Or she could just stay an idiot._

“Spare me your unsolicited opinions. I should think by now you would have learned to mind your own business.” Willie did not respond. “I trust your convalescence is concluded and you may return to your duties tomorrow. Miss Josette has special needs, and I rely on you to see that she is comfortable and well cared for.”

“Okay.”

Willie was dismissed, so he went downstairs to see if there was anything in the cupboard to eat. It was obvious from the condition of the place that he had been remiss of late, and Barnabas did not clean up after himself. Several days worth of newspapers piled were piled up by the fireplace. Willie gathered them together for the trash when he caught sight of Maggie’s picture splashed across the front page.

 _ **Local Girl Mysteriously Disappears.**_

He sat by the fire and read the accompanying story which explained how Maggie Evans was found delirious in the cemetery, taken home and later transferred to the hospital for an emergency blood transfusion. At one point the nurse reported that the patient’s vital signs had flatlined and left to get help. When she returned, Maggie, or her body at any rate, had disappeared. 

Barnabas had stolen her from the hospital, brought her back to the mansion again and planned to make her a vampire like himself. There was nothing that Willie could do about it. Maybe, if he could close that door, the one in his mind, but he was no longer sure what that would accomplish. Willie went down to the kitchen and spooned some peanut butter from the jar. 

He was on his way back to his room when there came a knock at the front door. He froze on the landing as Barnabas appeared at the top of the steps. Quickly descending, he pushed Willie out of the way. “Upstairs,” he barked. Willie huddled on the top step, out of sight, and listened as Barnabas greeted Burke Devlin and Joe Haskell. 

“Good evening, won’t you come in?” Barnabas cooed. 

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Joe nodded respectfully. 

“We want to talk to Willie Loomis,” said Burke, getting straight to the point. Willie held his breath. 

“I’m sorry, but he’s not here at present. I sent him to Bangor to do some errands on my behalf; I don’t expect him until tomorrow. May I ask the nature of your business with my man?”

Joe and Burke exchanged sideways glances, then Devlin spoke up. “We think he may know something about Maggie Evans’ disappearance.”

“I can’t imagine what. I assure you he knows very little on most subjects.” Neither visitor responded to the gentleman’s brevity. “Forgive me, you are understandably distraught. I only meant that Willie is a simple soul, quite harmless.”

Excuse me, Mr. Collins, but you’re the one who’s simple if you think that hoodlum is harmless,” Burke retorted. “He’s been nothing but bad news since he came to town.”

Barnabas responded in kind. “And he has since reformed. I admit, his previous behavior was reprehensible, but we all have moments of the past which we regret. I do, and I have no doubt you do as well, Mr. Devlin,” the vampire suggested slyly. 

Burke did not bite the bait. “Why are you protecting him?”

“Why are you persecuting him? I fail to see the correlation between a drunken tavern brawl and the abduction of a young woman.”

Joe stepped between the glaring men. “We just want to ask the guy a few questions, that’s all. It’s because Dr. Woodard noticed that he and Maggie came down with the same illness, with the same exact symptoms. Later, when Maggie disappeared, Vicky Winters got a strange phone call shortly after Loomis was at the house, telling us to find her at Eagle Hill Cemetery. That’s why we think there’s a connection.”

“It could not possibly have been my manservant, because I was waiting in the automobile while he delivered my message at the Evans’ residence, after which we came directly here. And, as you know, there is no telephone in my home.” Mr. Collins smiled. “I’m sorry I’m not able to be of more assistance.” He escorted them through the foyer, making it clear that their brief interview was at an end. “Please, if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask. Good evening.” The gentleman closed the door. 

Barnabas strolled to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at his servant who watched hesitantly from the shadows. “Do you see the trouble you cause?”

“Sorry.” Willie quickly retreated to his third floor bedroom for the rest of the night.


	10. Fake ID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas thinks it's a good idea to kidnap women and brainwash them, but Willie, ever the voice of reason (and for purposes of his own), questions the feasibility of his plans.

"Now I get to add ladies' maid to my job list," Willie told Maggie jokingly. He brushed her hair as she sat at the dressing table in Josette's bedroom. The new houseguest was high maintenance but he tried his damnedest to make her comfortable.

“I wish I was better at this stuff, then I could help ya more. I used to brush Lyddie’s hair. She was the best mom. Did I ever tell ya she taught me how to play poker? I sucked at it, though, till Jason showed me how to cheat. Bet you’d be good. You got a good poker face.”

Maggie stared at the trinkets and accessories on the vanity table, fingering a string of pearls. 

The handyman had restored the lavish chamber, sparing no expense with Barnabas' money, and brought in the finest Collinsport food available for takeout. He hauled bucket after bucket of hot water from the kitchen fireplace to the second floor when she wanted to bathe.

Willie knew it wasn’t right; he shouldn't be happy she was there, in that awful situation, but he craved the company, especially since it was Maggie. Although she rarely acknowledged or spoke to him, as time went on, she acted less like a zombie and more like a Josette. She still seemed to sleep a lot and, when awake, would ask for Barnabas.

Willie rushed through other chores to afford more time in the young woman’s company. So, by afternoon he could bring up a silver tray with a pot of Darjeeling tea, because it was her favorite. Barnabas instructed that a servant would never sit in the company of his mistress, so the boy parked himself on the floor in the corner and imbibed in his own teatime ritual. 

That was probably not what a ladies’ maid was supposed to do, and yeah, it felt creepy, but this whole situation was fucked up. For Willie, the line between what was right and what was wrong had always been a blurry one. Even when Miss Josette was asleep, the solitary servant found comfort just being in the proximity of a warm body. He conducted long, one-sided conversations, often combining truth and fantasy—it didn’t matter because no one was really listening. 

Such vigilance was not unwarranted, because when unattended, the young woman would sometimes stray from her room and wander about, which was dangerous because the people at Collinwood had no compunctions about randomly walking into the Old House without warning. David was particularly notorious for these social transgressions. He even saw the prisoner as she descended the staircase but fortunately mistook her for one of his ghost friends.

Once, while Josette was having a bath, Carolyn and Vicky Winters took it upon themselves to conduct a self-guided tour of the renovations in progress, and Willie found them in the young woman’s boudoir, rummaging through the vanity. These close calls never seemed to faze Barnabas, but Willie felt that if they didn't get a lock for the front door soon, he was going to have a heart attack.

+++++

The next guest to show up unannounced was Jason McGuire, and this time he was not bearing gifts.

"What happened to your face?" was his greeting as he pushed his way inside.

"You shoulda seen the other guy. Listen, Jason, I'm not—"

"This won’t take long; just popped in to say goodbye. It seems your visa to Collinsport has expired."

"But I can't leave; I'm w-workin' here."

Is that what you call it, work? You told me you'd never work again,” Jason smirked. “Now you got a sweet deal goin', and Barnabas Collins is your sugar daddy."

"Aw, c’mon." Willie shook his head in disbelief. "It ain't like that—"

"Sure it is, and the whole town knows it. Personally, I hope you take him for a bundle, but Roger has his knickers in a twist with this gossip tarnishin' the family's good name.” He barked with laughter at the notion, but continued with consternation. “Sadly, now my dear fiancé refuses to go ’head with our weddin’ plans till you’re gone.”

“Oh.” Willie looked out the window at the diminishing rays of sun and with a slightly shaky hand, began to light candles. This would not turn out well. Under no circumstances was Jason about to concede his luxurious lifestyle plans for his, once again, trouble-making punk of a partner. 

The Irishman’s tone was conversational, but his eyes flared. “And most disturbin' of all is the sheriff pokin' around askin’ questions about you."

"Me? W-what for?" He nearly dropped the match. 

"They think you had somethin' to do with that girl's disappearance. It was you, wasn't it, made that mysterious phone call tellin' them to look in the graveyard?"

Willie almost looked away, but caught himself and instead, stared the old man in the eye. "You know me better ’n that,” was his deadpan reply. 

“I used to think so, but now you’re actin’ all cagey, and everyone in town has their finger pointed at me dear ol’ partner.”

His stomach was doing flip flops. Willie crossed to the mantle and poked at the fire dismissively. “They got nothin' on me."

"And ya better see to it that they don’t, because they're lookin' very carefully at you. And, because you're my pal, they're lookin' very carefully at me—and we _can't have that_.” The Irishman pulled Willie to his feet and grabbed his shirtfront, shaking him. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, you little shite!”

Jason prepared to block the punch he expected in retaliation, but it never came. The boy flinched and tried to back away. McGuire pushed him aside. “Tough guy,” he scoffed.

“Fuck off,” Willie replied gruffly, but he had moved defensively behind the armchair, scanning the room for a weapon. "Lemme alone.”

“Mark me, lad, your little cover is blown.” Jason smoothed out the wrinkle on his suit jacket and adjusted his cuffs. “It’s a good grifter who knows when to make a hasty exit.”

“I can’t. There’s things I gotta do.”

“Sure an’ there is, but I'll not have my plans ruined so you can set up housekeepin' with a rich old buzzard."

“That's the same thing you're doin'."

"And nobody likes a copy cat. I'm warnin' you, Willie, you ship out at next tide or you’ll regret it."

"But whatever would I do without him?" came a cordial voice behind them. Barnabas had been standing in the entrance arch and startled both men.

"Ah, Mr. Collins, I didn't hear ya come in." Jason flashed his blarney grin.

"For which I must credit Willie's excellent work on the floorboards.” The handyman looked at his master with apprehension and a twinge of admiration. Nobody could deliver a bullshit line like Barnabas. “Boy, I believe you have chores upstairs that require your immediate attention."

"Yessir." Without even a sideways glance to Jason, Willie felt his partner’s dubious stare as he slunk out of the room and sprinted up the stairs. He paused briefly on the landing, listening to the two men verbally square off and proclaim superior knowledge when it came to handling their young hoodlum friend. 

_Oh fuck, the sheriff._ This whole situation was going to blow up bigger than booze on a bonfire, and in the end, a black bat would inconspicuously fly away and Willie would take the fall. Afterwards, the townsfolk would nod in agreement. _Uh-yuh, he was a strange fella alright, no friends to speak of. Kept to himself. Lived in that rundown old house…_

Willie slid down the wall and sat on the landing. 

_Jason, I wanna go so bad. I’m sorry I messed up your plans. I wish I could run out the back door and drive the truck outta town. Just keep goin’ and goin’ and—_

Something got knocked over upstairs. 

_ What are you waiting for, you fool. Go! _

He raced to Josette's room and found her struggling to get out of a vintage gown. Willie rushed over to assist, his own problems instantly forgotten.

"Here, lemme help. Don't rip it." He loosened the back ribbons and the dress fell in a puddle at her feet. The mistress was naked underneath. Willie got an eyeful, then walked away and punched the wall several times. He took a deep breath, adjusted his pants, and returned, retrieved the chemise lying on her bed and helped her into it.

"You gotta wear this under everything; I thought you knew that,” he whispered vehemently. Not that the undergarment offered much protection; through age or design, it was virtually transparent. He layered the nightgown on top, followed by the dressing gown and slippers. That felt like a close call. The servant leaned against the bedpost, wiping sweat from his brow. 

"I heard voices. Who is downstairs?" Josette glided toward the door.

"Nobody you know," He said, guiding her back into the room. "Now where's your dinner?" He found it on the writing desk. "Ya didn’t eat again; now it's all cold. C'mon, sit with me."

He placed her on a pillow in front of the fire, whereupon Willie cut Maggie's dinner into bite size pieces and hand fed her.

"Good, huh? It's from the diner, where ya used—never mind. Anyway, they got turkey specials all week." She opened her mouth like a baby bird. "And—how was your Thanksgiving? Oh, I guess ya were sick in bed, but you’re doin’ better now." Maggie continued to eat as Willie conducted his usual one-sided conversation. "Well, mine was pretty good, thanks for askin’. I drove all the way to New York and saw my folks. Traffic sucked but—hey, chew that before ya swallow."

Willie loaded her fork. "My mom's a really good cook. She made turkey and gravy—stuffin’ and—what? Sweet potatoes. Yeah. My dad and me drank beer all day and watched the game. Football game. Giants and the—uh, Dolphins. He's really my step-dad, so we're more like pals. I have a brother too. He's in Little League and Scouts, ya know, stuff like that. Always tryin’ to get me to hang out with him. So we all played some board game after dinner and watched The Wizard of Oz. Did I tell you they have a color TV? It's really neat in color 'cause the witch is green. Anyway, that’s what I heard . . . I'm prob'ly the only person who didn't know that."

Josette turned her head away, indicating that she had eaten enough, and stared at the fire. "There was pumpkin pie, too, with cranberry sauce." Willie added quietly. He looked hungrily at the scraps on her plate. "Are ya gonna finish this? Do ya mind…?" He all but licked the dish clean in a flash.

Josette rose and again advanced toward the door. "Barnabas…"

Willie jumped up and once more redirected her, this time toward the bed. "Give it a rest, okay? He'll be here soon." He tried to lower the girl gently onto the quilt but she fell back without warning, bringing the servant down with her, his hand pinned behind her back.

He started to pull it out, but Maggie turned toward him and snuggled in, and Willie found himself placing his free arm around the young woman's shoulders and drawing her close. They lay together on the bed in silence, Maggie dozing, Willie holding her. Tighter. He buried his face in her jasmine-scented hair. If only it could stay like this.

+++++

Willie knew better than to remain there for long. He was barely on his feet, covering her with a shawl, when Barnabas entered.

“What a loquacious friend you have in Mr. McGuire.”

“Yessir.” 

“Do you know the meaning of that word?”

“No, sir.” 

“It is verbose. Unlike you, of late. You’ve become uncharacteristically dutiful and restrained in your opinions.” His servant looked uncertain as Barnabas sighed, shaking his head. 

The vampire crossed to the canopy bed and gazed upon his lady in repose. "I must commend you on your attention to every detail of your mistress's comfort." He had that condescending smile.

"Yessir." Willie swiftly crossed the room to hang up Josette's dress, his eyes were focused on his task.

Barnabas held up her empty plate. "And what an appetite she must have. I hope you are not ordering more food than is necessary."

"I'll cut back if ya want. It's just that ya said to take good c-care of her."

"So I did—and so you have." Barnabas held out the plate for Willie, who remained at a distance. "What is the matter with you? Come and clear the dishes." Willie approached him carefully. "Why are you trembling? Have you done something of which I should be aware?"

Willie shook his head. The vampire was playing with him, it was obvious. Barnabas closed the gap, placed his hand on his servant's shoulder, and Willie's legs turned to Jello. This was usually what happened right before he would get grabbed or hit.

"Then stop acting foolish, and take the dishes away." The master placed the plate into his hands. “I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for why you smell of sage, poultry and perfume.”

“I-I ate the rest of her dinner. She didn’t want it all. It woulda been wasteful to throw it away, and you don’t like that.” 

“I see. Perhaps in the future you will permit me to delegate your rewards.”

“Sure. I mean, yessir. Sorry.” 

"You are dismissed until I call for you."

Willie made a hasty exit and spent the evening in his room. Only Barnabas would make a big fuss over a mouthful of turkey. The servant proceeded to further reward himself with the bottle of rum stashed under his bed. 

But he took more care in the future to maintain a respectful distance from his mistress.

+++++

As the days passed, Josette reacted more to Willie's remarks and would, on occasion, respond. She also became more independent at feeding and dressing herself. The prisoner was becoming increasingly aware of her surroundings and circumstance.

Things finally fell apart when Sam Evans and Joe Haskell came by to pick up the long-neglected easel, paints and portrait. As they loaded their car in the driveway, Willie just barely got back upstairs in time before the young woman recognized their voices and burst through her bedroom door.

"Joe? Pop? I'm here!" She called as Willie pushed her back inside. She ran to the window, screaming. "Pop! Come back!" They both stopped and listened to the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway.

"C'mon, sit back down, Maggie, I mean Miss Josette,” Willie said quietly. “You don't know them people."

"Stop calling me that! I know who I am." She shoved him hard. "Why did you send Joe and Pop away? They would have saved me."

Willie shook his head. "No, Barnabas woulda killed ’em."

"Why! Why are you keeping me here?"

"It’s Barnabas, he thinks you're his girlfriend from long ago."

Maggie's hand flew to her neck as she emitted a startled cry. "I remember. I remember everything." She grabbed his arm. "I have to get out of here! Willie, you have to help me."

"He'll know; he knows everything." 

“He’s not God.” The servant had no answer for that. “Willie, look at me. He’s a demon and you’re doing his dirty work.”

“I-I can’t help it.”

“You’re a coward.”

Willie looked away, ashamed. "I tried, ya know. I did try. I m-messed it up." He vaguely indicated the scar on his cheek.

"Don’t you understand, he's going to kill me! He wants to turn me into a monster like he is!" She collapsed sobbing into his arms. Willie held her and stroked her hair, but he couldn't save her, no more than he could save himself.

"Don't let on that ya know," he said softly. "Keep pretendin' to be Josette. Maybe somethin'll happen."

+++++

Something did happen. Barnabas instructed the handyman to build a second coffin. Willie followed orders, adapted plans for the closest thing he could find, which was a long storage trunk, and purchased the lumber cut to his specifications. Willie knew the end product would be terrible; his one experience as onboard assistant carpenter to Otto Zimmerman did little to qualify him for the task. He sanded and stained and sanded, thinking only about closing the door—the one in his mind. It was very nearly there.

Barnabas obviously didn't know shit about quality workmanship because he thought it was marvelous. Or maybe he was merely as excited about the finished product and its ultimate use as Willie was repulsed by it. He made as many time-consuming mistakes as possible until the vampire grew impatient and threatened consequences if he didn't finish soon.

Willie couldn't free the girl, to do so would court disaster for them both, but he hoped that, given enough time, she would find a means of escape. He spent hours in the basement working on the casket or at Collinwood chopping firewood, leaving her to figure it out. 

_Christ, Maggie, just pick the damn lock on your door. How hard could it be?_ If only he could show her and be done with it, but then Barnabas would know. Willie ran out of ideas to digress, and time ran out. 

Barnabas handed him a resplendent diamond necklace with instructions to have Josette dressed in her wedding gown, veil and jewelry and to be ready for the vampire when he rose the following evening. Willie spent the day in her room, feeling gutless and guilty. He tried to tell her, tell himself, that he would risk his life to save her if it were only that simple. If there really was a way. Or if he wasn’t such a chicken shit. 

Maggie sat staring out the window, tears streaming down her cheeks, she refused to eat or speak to him. As the day drew to a close, she dressed herself in the wedding gown that was to be her funeral shroud and walked mechanically to the door. "Let's get this over with," the girl said dully.

Once she reached the basement and saw her own coffin, Maggie's legs buckled and Willie grabbed her in support. She clutched at his arms, her words capsizing an emotional floodgate.

"I don't want to die! Oh God, get me out of here! Do something! "

"Barnabas, he’ll—"

"It’s alright. I know you’re afraid of him, but—” she took a deep breath and looked squarely into his eyes. “You could come with me. You don't have to do this. We can leave together." Willie pulled her close at the sound of what were the most beautiful words he ever heard. Maggie pushed him back with a fierceness she had not shown heretofore. "Kill him! Kill him now, and we'll both be free!"

Willie thought for a moment that his heart would explode. "I tried to kill him. I tried to run away. I tried to save you. I couldn't—do—anything." Willie walked away, unable to look at her any longer. 

"Please. Don't leave me here alone."

The boy turned and their eyes met, silently, glistening in the candlelight. He wanted to run back and hold her and kiss her and be her hero.

"I'm sorry." Willie ran up the stairs and slammed the door, knowing he would never see Maggie Evans alive again.


	11. Closed for Renovations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Willie won't help her to escape, Maggie Evans, vampire-killer, takes matters into her own hands.

_We can leave together_. She didn’t mean they would _stay_ together. Maggie meant she could go back to her fiancé, and Willie would go to prison for the rest of his life. Of course, for a vampire slave, that would be a step up. 

He sat on the floor in the hallway, closed his eyes and, with all his strength, pushed the door closed in his mind. Barnabas could never know how he felt; Willie would not give him yet another excuse to mock him and append the list of his inadequacies. On the other hand, the vampire hadn’t communicated with his humble handyman in a long time, so he probably didn’t care what Willie thought or felt. When the boy looked up again, shadows of nightfall were crawling across his face. He would have chores to do soon, candles to light, another vampire to feed. 

A heart-wrenching scream echoed through the house and broke Willie’s reverie. He jumped to his feet and dashed down the basement staircase as Maggie shrieked again. Barnabas had overtaken her at the bottom of the staircase as she attempted to flee. He clutched her throat while wrenching a pointed tool from her outstretched hand. 

Without thinking, Willie leaped the last four steps and landed on the vampire’s back. His arm around Barnabas’ neck, Willie jerked back and Maggie was released. She hastened across the room, out of reach, as Barnabas shook off his assailant who landed against the wall with a thud. 

“She tried to destroy me!” the vampire bellowed, shocked and outraged, as he flung the sharpened object at his servant. “Using one of those tools from your box.” He advanced upon the girl as Willie grappled for his arm. Barnabas knocked him away and continued toward his female assailant. “Now you must die.” 

Willie scrambled to his feet and planted himself between Maggie and his master. “No—sir—ya don’t wanna do that. She didn’t mean it. She’s just scared a’ you. You’re a scary guy.” 

“I’m going to kill her, and you may watch because I know how fond you are of Miss Evans.” 

“Huh? What?”

“You have done everything but take out an advertisement in the Collinsport Star to proclaim your feelings. You have betrayed me in the past for her sake, but you will not have that opportunity again.” He took his servant by the shoulders and moved him aside. “Because then I’m going to kill you; I have had enough of your interference.”

Willie swallowed. Pleading with the vampire never worked, nor did excuses or pity plays or lying. 

“That’s gonna make a big mess, and there’ll be nobody to clean it up,” he remarked casually. “You’re never gonna find somebody else to take care a’ ya like I do.”

“I daresay,” Barnabas scoffed. “There could only be improvement.”

“But for now, I’m all ya got—and so is she.” The servant motioned him aside with a nod of the head and spoke confidentially. “Pretty girl. Really beautiful; looks just like Josette. Face it, you’re not gonna find another one to even come close. And she was doin’ better, ya know, gettin’ used to it. You know how women are. She just needs a little more time.” 

Barnabas took this under advisement. “You mean, time to reflect, and possibly reconsider?”

“Yeah. What you said. You could give her just one more chance. I mean, what could it hurt?” he shrugged. “You got all the time in the world.”

“Very well, then; she will need an atmosphere of solitude in which to meditate. Wait here.” The vampire grasped his reluctant bride by the wrist and dragged her from the room. Willie waited alone by the coffins, listening to the couple’s echoing footsteps accentuated by Maggie’s pleading sobs as they disappeared into the maze of subterranean chambers. A metal door swung open and slammed shut. 

“Don’t leave me alone in the dark!” she screamed. “Where am I? Help! Please!”

Willie shook his head. Don’t beg him. It won’t do any good. Barnabas returned to the central room, brushing a stray cobweb from his suit jacket. 

“Miss Evans will be staying in the wine cellar until further notice. The key is on the hook by the door when you deliver her meals. Simple fare, I think, nothing too distracting.”

“Okay. I mean yessir.”

“Now, as for you . . .” Barnabas went to the coffin and retrieved his walking stick and Willie went on the alert. Flattened against the wall, he inched toward the archway. 

“Me? What’d I do?” 

“Surely, you’re not serious. A moment ago you attacked me in defense of that common girl.” 

“N-no, I-I was just tryin’ to get your attention—”

“And now you have it.”

Barnabas swung at his insubordinate servant, who ducked at the last second. The cane struck the entryway with a resounding smack and took a chunk of wood out of the moulding. Willie turned to run, but the vampire grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back on his knees. He hunkered down, prepared this time to protect his hands and face. A single blow fell across his back, and then, without warning, it stopped. After a moment, the young man looked up with trepidation. Barnabas was twisting the silver wolf’s head on his stick where it had come loose. 

“Damn you! Look what you’ve done to my cane. It’s broken!” The vampire stomped up the stairs in a huff. 

+++++

“Maggie?” Willie whispered. “Maggie? I brought you somethin’. Take it.” He pushed a flashlight through the tiny barred window on the iron door. 

“Willie, I’m so scared.” She flipped on the portable light and let it bounce around the room. The distorted shadows of rows and rows of bottles climbed the walls. There was a small writing table and chair, and a filthy old mattress flung in the corner. 

“Don’t sit on that, it’s fulla bugs. I’m gonna get some stuff and be right back.” 

Willie reappeared sometime later and unlocked the door. First he pulled out the stinky mattress and brought in his new one, with the box spring and complimentary adjustable metal frame. When that was set up, he added the flannel sheets, pillow, a cotton blanket and a woolen one. Next he unloaded a full water pitcher and basin, chamber pot, and an oil lamp. Last, he handed over the warmest, if not most attractive, dresses he could find, advising her to wear them all in layers. 

“Sorry they’re not so nice, but those flimsy gowns won’t be no good, it’s too cold in here. I used to have a parka, but I don’t have it anymore. You took it home, remember?” Maggie sat on the bed and did not respond.

He sighed and took off his rust colored windbreaker. “I’m gonna be sorry. Here.” He put it around her shoulders. “But I’m sleepin’ by a fire tonight and you’re not. It’s kinda dirty ‘cause I wear it all the time, even inside the house, and there’s a rip.” Maggie started to cry. “C’mon, it don’t smell that bad, does it?” He maneuvered her arms into the sleeves. 

“Hey, it’s better than bein’ dead, right? You’re really lucky, ’cause Barnabas don’t usually change his mind like that.” The young woman continued to weep. “Bet you’re hungry. Do you wanna eat? We got SpaghettiOs and peanut butter and bean soup.”  
No answer. He placed a box of matches on the table. “I b-better go. If you want anythin’, give a holler. I’ll sleep in the kitchen so’s I can hear ya.” He almost said goodnight, but that sounded stupid. How could she possibly have a good night? 

+++++

Willie woke the next day to the sound of breaking glass. He raced to the wine cellar, threw open the door, and ducked just as a bottle flew past his head and crashed behind him. The room was littered with shattered shards and broken bottles. Maggie didn’t look particularly angry or distraught, she just picked bottles off the shelves one by one and flung them to the wall or floor. 

“Stop it, you’re gonna cut yourself.” He ran back to the kitchen and returned with a broom, dustpan and bucket. Maggie paid him no mind and continued her task. He watched for a minute. “Ya know, each one a’ those costs, like, hundreds of dollars.” 

She paused and looked at her custodian, a bottle of champagne poised in her hand. With a sigh, the girl handed it to him. Willie almost replaced it on the shelf, but reconsidered and smashed it against the wall. 

+++++

Barnabas told Willie it was improprietous for a servant to speak unnecessarily to his mistress, but they both knew he just didn’t want the guard to get too friendly with his attractive prisoner. That deceitful woman would undoubtedly appeal to Willie’s gullible nature and again try to enlist his assistance to deceive his master. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” the boy replied distractedly. He wanted to see how many candles he could light with one match without burning himself.

Barnabas commanded his attention by extinguishing the flame with his fingertips. “Because you know where your loyalties lie and what the consequences would be should you forget.”

“Yessir.”

“You will want to be her champion, but she will make you her fool.” He put his hand on Willie’s shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” The servant flinched involuntarily, then pulled away.

“’Course I do. I’m not stupid.”

Willie returned to his chore. Naturally Barnabas would be suspicious. He knew nothing of what it was like to be lonely or desperate. But he was right. The opportunity was ripe to get into a shithole of trouble. 

Nonetheless, Willie spent as much time as he could spare in Maggie’s prison cell, pulling blankets around her, watching her eat. As per the boss’s instructions, they rarely exchanged more than a few words; their eyes bespoke conversations not worth verbalizing. 

_What are you doing?_  
 _Nothin’_  
 _I’m still here._  
 _I’m still here too._  
 _What’s for dinner?_  
 _Same old shit._

+++++

“Willie, I want to give you something—for being so good to me.” Maggie broke the silence and looked up from her soup as if taken with a sudden thought. 

“I didn’t do anythin’.” A smack of his broom against the wall sent a tiny mouse scurrying into a chink. 

“See how shiny it is.” She removed a ring from her finger and held it out to him. The young man looked up from across the room. 

“B-but that’s your engagement ring.”

“It’s a real diamond—almost half a carat. You could sell it and get a lot of money.” She held it up to the light as Willie put his broom aside and approached her. 

“It’s pretty . . . but I can’t take your ring.”

“Please, you’d be helping me. It makes me so sad to look at it. And what’ll happen when I die?” She stifled a sob. “He will kill me, you know, because I’m never going to do what he wants. Will you just bury me somewhere wearing a beautiful diamond ring?”

“I-I dunno.” He didn’t want to think about digging a hole for Maggie, but he always thought that was a stupid thing, burying people with their jewelry.

“Then take it—as a favor to me. Please.” She pressed the ring into his hand and closed his fingers over it. 

+++++

Willie was lugging trash upstairs from the kitchen when young David walked unannounced in the front door. The handyman ran to meet him.

“David, what’re ya doin’ here? Ya can’t just walk in here like ya used to.”

“Yes, I can. This is my Aunt Elizabeth’s house.”

“No, it belongs to your cousin Barnabas now, and he don’t like people bargin’ in.”

“Well, I came to see Josette and Sarah.” 

“They ain’t here. Go get your own spooks.” 

The intruder tried to run past him and up the steps but Willie intercepted, picked the boy up and hauled him out the front door. “Willie, put me down! I thought you were my friend!”

He dumped the lad unceremoniously on the porch. “I’m nobody’s friend.”

David scrambled to his feet and spat viciously at the servant. “I hate you!”

“Yeah, I hate you too,” he replied quietly. “Now g’on home before ya get in trouble.” He closed the door and listened as David, audibly crying, pounded on the entrance and then stomped across the porch, his steps slowly fading away.

Willie hurried upstairs to his room and, afraid something might happen to it, secured the ring in his desk drawer, along with his other treasures: Maggie’s newspaper picture and the stack of vintage love letters. He had a real diamond. It was a present from Maggie, and he would keep it forever. 

Willie retained possession of the jewel for another four hours, until Barnabas showed up at his bedroom door that evening, his hand outstretched. The servant didn’t have to ask why. He had no rights and could own nothing. He dropped the ring into the vampire’s palm. 

“You have no common sense whatsoever.” The master chided him. “You would have tried to sell that and had the authorities here within the hour. Did you not realize that was her plan?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He shied away, not sure if he was going to get hit, but the vampire gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation and stalked off. 

+++++

The vampire visited his involuntary houseguest that evening and every evening. He brought her the creepy music box to play with and regaled her with endless narratives of his beloved Josette. How she had loved this, hated that, and had been perfect in every way—with one small exception. His bride was so reviled by the monster that Barnabas had become, she leapt to her death from Widow’s Hill rather than be with him. 

Maggie sat in silence during these sessions, ingesting the information. Willie also listened from the corridor, hoping that she wouldn’t say anything to make Barnabas lose his temper. The vampire felt he was slowly breaking her willful streak, but Willie knew better. She was just playing along, or at least that’s what he hoped. Like being in the hole at prison; if you’re there too long, you’ll go nuts. 

Willie often found her rocking back and forth, singing to herself and talking to invisible friends. He made sure she ate enough and drank enough and stayed warm, but, as the days passed, he knew the young woman was going to lose her mind. If that happened, the vampire would have no further use for her. After all, he wanted her to be Barnabas crazy, not bat-shit crazy.


	12. Party of Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie convinces Maggie to go on a date with him, Old House style.

Sometime during the second week, Willie's plan started to formulate. It began with slamming shut that door in his mind and locking it with a biggest deadbolt his mind could muster. Blocking his thoughts would still not enable him to betray his master, nor could he knowingly help the prisoner escape when it conflicted with the vampire's will. But everyone knew Willie was such a flawed individual: weak, selfish and stupid; one of his frequent lapses in good judgment could have disastrous results. Under this assumption, he took his grocery allowance and went shopping.

"Good mornin’, miss." Willie gently nudged the girl awake and offered her a cheese Danish and cup of coffee on a silver tray. "Breakfast is served." Maggie sat up and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "Sorry, it's not as good as the kind you make, but it’s nice ‘n hot, and there's sugar in it."

"Why do I have to get up? I'm tired."

"Ya got a lotta things to do today." 

Maggie looked at him still half asleep. It took several moments for her to realize that the prison guard was wearing a tuxedo tailcoat and trousers, a white wingtip-collared shirt, and high top sneakers.

“What’s with the get up?”

“This is what a footman wears, and me on special occasions.”

“What’s the special occasion? Celebrating that we have sugar for the coffee?”

"You’re invited to a party—at my place." He smiled and swung open the iron door.

"What about—?"

"We shouldn't tell him, 'cause he's not invited. It's a private party.”

She looked skeptical. "Why? What are we going to do?"

"For starters, I thought you wouldn't mind if I washed that nasty-smellin' dress you got on. And there's a tub full ‘a hot water upstairs if ya wanna bath."

"Oh, Willie," the young woman’s voice cracked. 

"C'mon. Daylight's burnin."

In the second floor bathroom, the claw foot tub had been filled with steaming water. "I'll hang your dress up by the fireplace downstairs to dry, and ya can wear this while you're waitin’." He handed her his white terrycloth robe.

"What does the H stand for?"

"I like to think it stands for Hollingshead, 'cause we were doin' this con—I mean job—at the time, and that was my name. But really, the H is for Hilton. I took it from a hotel in Panama. It was the nicest place you ever saw." He pulled his duffle bag in from the hallway, its lumpy contents clattering on the wooden floorboards.

"What's in there?"

"Stuff! Everythin’ you need." He dumped the bag in the sink and out poured hotel soaps and miniature bottles of shampoo and body lotion, travel toothbrushes and shaving cream, cascades of toiletries accumulated from years of world travel. "I been to every hostel, hotel and motel there is. Go 'head, take whatever ya want." He held up a little red box with the picture of a flamenco dancer on it. "This is special black soap from Spain. I never used it, but it's supposed to be good for your face."

Willie waited in the hall until she tossed her clothes out the door, then he took them downstairs and scrubbed them in the scullery sink with pumice soap. They were rinsed via his newly functional water pump and hung by the kitchen fire. _This was what a date must be like_. Not a dinner and movie kind of date, more like a laundromat date. 

Maybe someday he could take her to the movies, Willie thought as he smoothed out the wet wrinkles in her dress, and to a fancy restaurant. They would order steak and lobster and the finest beer money could buy. Of course, they would have to go to Bangor—but wait. Never mind; he was going to be dead later tonight. Best to not make plans.

Maggie holed up in that bathroom for hours, just like a woman. Finally he knocked softly on the door and she appeared, looking lost and forlorn.

He ignored the girl’s red eyes. "There's a campfire up in my room. Ya comin'?"

She smiled sadly. "Sure. I guess."

Without the conveniences, which had been moved to the wine cellar, and with the empty bed frame, Willie's room looked pretty sparse, but he set up a cozy place in front of a roaring fire with blankets and pillows borrowed from the other bedrooms. Set in the middle were a collection of candles, china plates, silver forks and crystal goblets, hot dogs, marshmallows, pineapple juice and rum. Like a date. 

"Mr. Loomis, are you planning to get me drunk?" Maggie laughed a little awkwardly and sat down, clutching a pillow to her. Willie handed her a wiener on a fork, which she proceeded to roast.

"That's up to you," he shrugged. "I'm sure gonna get me drunk."

And so they spent the afternoon, eating and drinking, talking and just watching the fire. Maggie recalled happy childhood memories and funny diner anecdotes about precocious children and dime tippers. She told him her dreams of saving enough money to go to college and become a teacher. Of getting married and having lots of children. 

Willie had little to contribute to the conversation, having no desire to share his sordid past or his nonexistent future. So when asked, he changed the subject to gangster movies. When it got too warm, he shed the penguin suit jacket and shirt and kicked back in the tuxedo pants, sleeveless undershirt and suspenders. The servant felt less self conscious since his bug bites and bruises had faded away and long hours of sawing wood had put on some muscle mass. And, except for his face, the scars hardly showed at all. Maggie poured another round. 

“Slow down, lady. You’re really putting that away.”

“Daddy’s little girl,” she laughed. “I thought you wanted to party. Hey, I have a new drinking game. You have to do a shot every time you hear thunder or a dog howling.”

“Can’t, I’m ready to pass out.” He fell back onto the pillows. Maggie curled up next to him and he took her into his arms. They laid quietly together, listening to the fire crackle. 

"Thank you, Willie, for all this. I'm having a nice time."

"Good."

She looked up into his face. His eyes were closed. "Do you want to make love?"

"No."

"Oh." She put her head back on his chest. "Is it because of Barnabas?"

"No, because of you. C’mon, you know ya don't want me; you’re just drunk. Or are ya thinkin’ I would help you get outta here if we fu—made love? You must think I'm the biggest creep in the world."

"No. I just thought, hey, you're alone and I'm alone and maybe we could be alone together."

Willie smirked. "Where'd you get that cheap pickup line?"

"It was from some creep I met at the Blue Whale. His initials are Willie Loomis." She pulled herself up and, brushing the stray hair away, studied his face and kissed him.

Maggie was playing him like a fiddle. Of course she was. He had set her up to do just that, because he couldn’t help her escape—she had to dupe him. But now, as they were lying each other’s arms, it felt too real, and Willie started to both hurt inside and become unmistakably aroused. 

"What about Joe?" he finally blurted out. 

"Joe thinks I'm dead. I try not to think about him anymore."

Willie could stand it no longer. I think about you all the time. He pushed her to the side and climbed on top. Heat pulsated through their bodies as his lips smashed into hers with the release of months of pent up passion. His hand groped under the robe as hers fumbled with the buttons on his fly. 

If she so much as touched it, Willie was afraid he was going to explode before they had begun. He looked away toward the window to temporarily refocus his thoughts. The sun was disappearing behind a cluster of trees. _Shit!_  
Willie rolled off and onto his back, breathing heavily. Maggie sat up, confused.

"Sorry. I shouldn't a' done that. I'm really drunk," he said. He looked around for some cold water to dump on his head, then remembered that his pitcher and basin were in the wine cellar. 

Maggie shrugged. "It’s alright. Joe and I . . . never . . . He wants to wait." she responded quietly, staring at the fire.

Willie sighed. "Joe is gay."

The young woman turned to him abruptly. "What? No, you’re wrong. He asked me to marry him."

“Sometimes people want to be somethin’ different from what they are.”

Maggie thought for a moment. “I didn’t know there were any gay people in Collinsport.” 

Willie laughed at her naiveté. “You prob’ly thought there weren’t any vampires either.” The mention of Barnabas brought the memory of their situation back to the foreground. Maggie looked sadly at her companion as he settled into a cocoon of pillows. “I’m takin’ a nap. . . Don't forget to go back down to your cell before sunset, but be careful, 'cause I left the front door unlocked—oww.” He pulled his truck keys out of his back pocket and tossed them on the floor. “Do you get what I’m sayin’?”

“Yes.”

Maggie crawled under his arm and wrapped herself tightly around his chest as she fought off a rising sense of fear and foreboding. With a pained expression, he squeezed back. They clung to each other with the desperation of shipwrecked sailors to a piece of driftwood, until the boy fell asleep.

+++++

It was years later. Willie and his lovely wife were picnicking on the beach as their happy hoard of children frolicked nearby in the sand and surf. The boys were strapping, blond little Willies and the girls were mini Maggies with thick, chestnut ponytails. 

Under an umbrella, Sam Evans painted a seascape, so preoccupied that he dipped the brush into his beer bottle instead of the water can. Carolyn strolled by wearing a microscopic polka-dot bikini. She winked at Willie and tossed her hair before going on her way. Maggie smacked him with the book she was reading. “Eyes back here, lover boy.”

“And all the other parts, too.” The young man leaned over to kiss his wife but got a face full of sand instead. Burke Devlin and Vicky were jogging along the beach. 

“Hey, big man, watch it!” Willie scrambled to his feet, yelling at him. Burke made a U turn. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Loomis. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna see you on this beach again, or there’s gonna be trouble.”

Yes, sir.” 

Burke hurried away, and Willie sat again on the blanket. Now Barnabas was seated next to him, wearing his wool three-piece suit and sunglasses. 

“Lovely day,” the gentleman remarked. 

“Yeah. And sunny. How come you’re outside during the daytime?”

“I am no longer a vampire. I have been cured, and it’s all thanks to you, son. I’ve come to reward you for all your hard work.” The older man took out his billfold. “Will a million dollars be okay?”

+++++

The room was dark and empty when Willie woke from his dream. He lay there, hugging a pillow, for a long time, staring into space. It was chilly again. Maggie had fled, and he would be all alone again in that dismal old house with the vampire. But not for long. By now Barnabas knew that his bride had broken out, and was deciding how to dispatch his duplicitous servant. Something quick; Willie hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. 

By the dying embers in the fireplace, he rose and changed into his old clothes, returning the tuxedo to his armoire. Prom night was over.

No sense putting it off any longer; it was time for the shit hit the fan. He stared at his reflection in the dresser mirror and took a deep breath. _Okay, Loomis, this is it. Go out with a bang. Goodbye, cruel world._

“And don't be a chicken shit,” the boy said aloud as he reached for—the door to his room was locked from the outside. That was stupid. He pulled a laminated card from his wallet and, sliding it along the door’s strike plate, popped it open.

Barnabas was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, smoldering and sullen.

"Hey, you’re up." Willie said, dragging his feet down the steps. "Guess I fell asleep." He yawned. "My head feels fuzzy."

"You reek of alcohol and that woman."

"Don’t forget hotdogs! We had a party. It was that kinda day, ya know?" He spun around on the newel post of the banister. "You never said not to have a party.”

"In case you’re curious, fear not, our guest is safely secured once more in the wine cellar." Willie stopped swinging. "However, when I came upon her, Miss Evans was behind the steering mechanism of your truck, with your keys, about to take flight."

Their eyes locked. Willie held his breath. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't know—"

"Spare me," the vampire snapped. "I realized the crux of your ridiculous charade long before she did." Willie was dumbfounded. Barnabas couldn’t have known. His mind's door had been sealed shut. "Did you honestly believe this foolish skullduggery could succeed? I warned what would happen if you insisted on sacrificing yourself for that self-seeking harlot." The monster snarled, advancing upon him. Willie may have been confused by the jumble of diatribe that came out of Barnabas’ mouth, but his expression was unmistakable. 

In spite of his intended bravado, Willie spun around and bolted up the stairs, but as he grabbed the railing for support, a broken spindle came off in his hand, and he tumbled back down the steps to the floor. Undaunted, Barnabas continued his approach. An experienced street fighter, the servant rolled and came up on his feet. He backed away threateningly and brandished the spindle, realizing that for once, he was armed and the vampire, recently bereft of his cane, was not.

Suddenly Barnabas halted in his tracks; he seemed anxious, even frightened, Confused, Willie looked around to see why and discovered he was standing in close proximity to one of the master's prize statuary. His jaw clenched, Willie swung the spindle dangerously near its head.

"Back off, bloodsucker, or the naked lady gets it!"

Glaring, Barnabas retreated without a word. Willie flew upstairs to his room and locked the door from the inside. He huddled in front of the dead fireplace clutching his wooden weapon. 

So, after all that, the closed door in his mind meant nothing? Was it just another game the vampire invented to fuck with him? More than anything, Willie wanted to believe that was not true. He needed that last shred of self respect to hold on to. Barnabas had to have been bluffing; he had just found a loophole. Maybe he had a portal to Maggie's mind as well and had been reading her thoughts, not his.

Willie held up the nearly empty bottle of rum, chuckling quietly. Shit, he had had a lot to drink. _The look on Barnabas' face—oh my god._ Sure, there would be hell to pay tomorrow, but for tonight he was reprieved. Probably. The young man pushed his dresser in front of the door, just in case. 

Then he remembered Maggie and his smile disappeared. The plan had failed. She was supposed to have run away without the guard knowing. Instead, she got drunk and fell asleep beside him. He couldn't tell her not to do that, she was supposed to figure it out. Everybody else around here can read minds. In retrospect, the boss was right; it had been a stupid plan, but it was the only one he had. _What a loser._

Even if Willie was safe for now, what would the vampire do to Maggie? She wasn’t dead, he reassured himself. Barnabas would have said something, gloated over it. But he had such a mean temper, maybe he hit her. No, he wouldn't do that; Barnabas prided himself as a gentleman. Of course, to Willie's experience that meant the master always spoke politely while smashing his face into a wall.

Willie built a new fire, finished off the rum and settled into the pillows. He did not die today as planned, but he most certainly would tomorrow, and next time he would have more guts. But he had to get Maggie out of the house first. There's no point to getting killed while saving the woman you love if she isn't saved. No drinking next time. No games—just out the door and down the road. Keep the truck. I won't need it anymore. 

_When you're an old married lady, maybe you'll think about me once in a while, and remember I was your hero._


	13. The Grateful Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie rescues the girl and lives happily ever after. No, he doesn't. Just kidding. He screws up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Willie's thoughts, to himself and Barnabas, are _italizied._  
>  Barnabas' telepathic communications to Willie are _italized and underlined_.

Although he was hardly known for being fashion conscious, the following morning Willie carefully chose what would be the last outfit he would wear. Not that anyone would ever find his body. Still, it mattered, so he made sure his socks and underwear were clean and his jeans had no holes. He donned the Grateful Dead T shirt, even though it was old and threadbare, because it was his favorite, and topped it off with a zippered hoodie. 

Time to implement Plan B. Step 1: Find Maggie Evans. Willie headed for the door and flipped the locks, but it wouldn’t budge. Again, it had been secured from the outside and, again, the young man popped it free with a card, but this time it didn’t work. He tried tripping it with his switchblade and jimmied the keyhole. _Shit_. 

There was no way Barnabas sneaked up and installed a slide bolt in the middle of the night. Willie decided the vampire was just fucking with his mind to make him think it was locked. He could do stuff like that. 

_Well, guess what, Barnabas, I’m gettin’ outta here, ’cause I’m the Harry Houdini of vampire slaves. Oh, I’m sorry, was my mental door closed? Let me open it and say that again. Then I’m gonna open this door too._

Willie picked up the fire poker and proceeded to pound out the pins to take the door off its hinges. 

_Go ’head and kill me. I don’t care. But I’m gonna rescue Maggie Evans, and you can’t stop me._

_You will have to gain access to her first, and there are many obstacles_. 

_You’re on_. 

Willie cautiously descended the stairs to the first floor, checking for roadblocks and booby traps. The house was damp and quiet except for the sound of thunder and pouring rain outside. On a normal day he would be tending the leaky roof, strategically placing buckets among the guano in the rafters. He noticed the front door ajar and closed it as he passed. Every damn door in this house was in lockdown except that one. 

The door to the basement was also secured. Undaunted, Willie went around back to the servants’ staircase and got through that door by, again, dismantling its hardware, but the one at the bottom of the stairs leading to the kitchen was also bolted, and its hinges were located on the wrong side. All of his tools were on the worktable in basement, right next to the “His” and “Hers” coffins. 

Back upstairs to rethink the situation with the first door. As Jason would say, things were indeed hopeless, but they were not serious. The boy unsuccessfully jimmied the keyhole, which meant there was a lock on the other side of this one too. But there was also a decorative window. Willie busted out the glass, and with a wire hanger reached inside and began the tedious task of manipulating the slide bolt sight unseen. Hours later, he had accomplished nothing. The hanger was too flimsy and broken glass was slicing up his jacket sleeve. And his stomach was grumbling. He pounded on the door in frustration, and the sound echoed into the corridor. No, that was different pounding. Someone was at the front door. Willie reluctantly left his task to find a slightly soggy Victoria Winters on the front porch. 

“Christ, what do ya want?” he snapped in a tone reminiscent of the old Willie Loomis. 

“I’m sorry if I bothered you,” said Vicky, taken aback by his abrupt attitude. “I’m heading into town to report that the storm knocked out our power. I just wanted to check in to see if Mr. Collins was alright . . .”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Know why? Because we never have any power.” He started to close the door when Vicky stopped him.

“And you left your truck open.”

In the driveway sat his abandoned truck, both cab doors were gaping wide. Ignoring the proffered umbrella, he ran out, dodging raindrops, to close the doors and retrieve his keys, still in the ignition. The floor was flooded and the seats were soaked. He hoped the battery wasn’t dead as he ran back to the porch, shaking out his shaggy hair like a dog.

“Thanks, Vicky. I’m sorry I was—ah, shit, I’m havin’ a bad day.” 

“So I see.”

“I’ll tell Mr. Collins you came by. He ain’t home now; he’s at work.” She took note of Mr. Collins’ employee, the one everyone whispered about, as he stood there dripping, disheveled and a little desperate. He certainly didn’t look like her idea of a “kept” man. Not a well kept one, at any rate. 

“What happened to your sleeve?” she asked, pointed to his left arm. “Look, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothin’. A—window broke. I was cleanin’ it up.” He picked a fragment of glass from his forearm. “No big deal.”

“I have Bandaids in my purse. Let me see,” The governess reached for his arm, but Willie pulled away. 

“I said drop it,” he growled, causing her to step back in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry, I gotta go. The roof’s leakin’.”

“Goodbye, Willie.” She replied uncertainly. “Take care of yoursel—” He had already closed the door. 

+++++

A glob of mud went splat on the parlor window. Then another. That was followed by a stone that didn’t break the glass but cracked it. 

_Son of a bitch_. 

Willie threw open the front door and yanked David out from behind a pillar. Taking advantage of Miss Winters’ absence, he had run off in the storm in search of mischief. 

“David, get the hell outta here; I don’t have time for you today.”

“No. I know what you and Cousin Barnabas are doing, and I’m telling.”

Willie grabbed his arm. “What do ya know? What are ya talkin’ about?”

“Stop, you’re hurting me!” 

Willie released the boy. “Sorry.” Of course it hurt. That’s how Barnabas would grab him, throwing him around like a sadistic toddler with a ragdoll. He escorted David into the foyer and closed the door. “So, tell me what ya think ya know.”

“I know Josette is in here somewhere, Sarah too, and you won’t let me visit them anymore. It’s not fair.”

Willie breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re right, it’s not fair, but I don’t make up the rules, and neither do you.” He reached for his jacket from the rack inside the door and realized it was still downstairs in the wine cellar, so he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt instead. “Get in the truck, and I’ll drive you back. You can play the radio—wait, it’s all wet inside.”

David looked around the room, then pointed to Barnabas’ Inverness coat on the rack. 

“Sure, why not?” Willie grabbed the cloak and used it as a seat liner. 

The car’s battery was intact and eventually the engine kicked in. Willie nervously tapped the steering wheel as the windshield wipers beat out of rhythm with the Christmas carol, which, in turn, was out of rhythm with David banging his head against the  
passenger window. 

But the truck’s tires were hopelessly stuck in the mud. David slid over to the driver’s seat while Willie got out and pushed. The young boy had a great time pumping the gas pedal and revving the motor, but the rear tires only spun themselves deeper in the mire. Willie got covered in mud. 

“Forget it. I’ll walk ya home.”

“But I’m having fun.”

“Get outta the truck.”

David laughed. “You’re a mess, Willie.”

“I know.”

The handyman pulled up the hood on David’s mackintosh and they trekked through the woods, where the trees offered some slight shelter from the rain. On the journey, David, without warning, grabbed a branch from the forest floor and began furiously  
beating a nearby log. 

_Everybody in this family is a fuckin’ nutcase_. 

“Watch this.” Willie picked up another stick and hurled it as far as he could. David followed suit and tossed his as well, and they continued to walk. 

“Ya know, they told me at Collinwood what a trouble-makin’ piece of shit you were, but I didn’t believe ’em.”

“Why not? My father says I’m evil. So does Carolyn.”

“They don’t understand ya like I do. People get bad reps sometimes they don’t deserve. That pisses them off, and they start actin’ like people expect them to. Ya know what I mean?”

“I guess so. Is that what happened to you, Willie?”

“Nah, I deserved it.”

“Were you a trouble-making piece of shit?”

“Still am. That’s how come I know one when I see it.”

They cut across the terrace and headed for the front door of Collinwood. 

“If I promise to stay away from the Old House, will you come over and play with me sometime?”

 _No, kiddo, ’cause I’m gonna be dead_. “I don’t really get a day off. Anyway, you should have friends your own age; stop hangin’ out all the time with grownups.”

“Willie, you’re not a grownup.”

The handyman laughed. “I’m s’pposed to be.” 

“Do you have friends your own age?”

“Nah, not anymore. But when I was a kid like you, I had lots, and one a’ ‘em was even named David. And there was Denny and Joey Jellydonuts—his real name was Francis Joseph Cassidy, but ya didn’t call him that unless you wanted a punch in the nose.”

He hoisted up David so he could bang the knockers on the front door. Roger answered, ineffectively waving a flashlight, and Willie scowled at the boy’s crummy parent. “Pay some attention to your kid once in a while, Mr. Collins, before somethin’ bad happens to him.” 

Roger regarded the young man with a heavy lidded stupor. “Are you threatening me, Loomis?” he queried indignantly.

“No, sir. It’s a warnin’.” 

Willie stifled a laugh when he overheard David yell at his father as the door closed, “I am not a trouble-making piece of shit; you are!”

More than anything, Willie wanted to run around back to the kitchen entrance, scrounge a bite to eat and wash up, but Mrs. Johnson would want to chat, and there was no time for that. In fact, the overcast sky gave no indication, but the young man knew it was late. He paused briefly by the terrace fountain to rinse the mud from his face and hands, and raced home. 

+++++

Back inside the Old House, Willie could hear the water dripping in upstairs as he invaded the master’s bedchamber to pilfer a wooden hanger. This has to work, he thought, breaking off the bottom rung so it would fit through the tiny window.

The attic was probably flooded. There would be a friggin’ mess upstairs by tomorrow, but too bad, because if Willie was dead, he wouldn’t have to deal with it. And he wouldn’t have to cater to that selfish bastard any more, working 15 hours a day, every single, goddam day. The vampire never talked to him except to bark orders or criticize. Never paid him a dime. Made him beg for food like a dog. All Willie ever got in return was beaten and bitch slapped. Now this shit. Willie slammed against the slide bolt with the wooden hanger. Afterwards he could ram it into the master’s heart. 

The light grew dimmer as the day waned, and Willie still had a lady to rescue. If only there hadn’t been so many damn interruptions. Seriously, if one more person knocked at that door . . . 

There was a knock at the door. Willie grabbed the fire poker and stomped to the front entrance. Two clean-cut, smiling young men in suits stood on the porch.

“Good afternoon, sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior?”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Willie swung the poker and brought it down where the frightened gentlemen had stood a second before. They tripped over each other scrambling down the steps back to their car. 

+++++

_Got it._

Willie pushed the bolt back with his coat hanger and the door swung open. He ran downstairs to the basement, not sure what the next plan of action should be, since the truck was incapacitated, and he hadn’t counted on Step 1 taking the whole damn day. 

“Maggie!” He ran toward the wine cellar, past the two coffins, and stopped dead in his tracks. The lid of his homemade casket was up. It was lined with a quilted coverlet and inside, under the wool blanket, laid his damsel in distress. 

“Maggie.” He stroked her face and brushed her hair aside to see if there were fresh puncture wounds on her neck. The woman’s skin was cold, but it wasn’t dead cold, it was human sleeping all day in the basement cold. Her hand shot up and seized his wrist as she opened her eyes. For a second there was a glimmer of recognition, then it faded and she smiled. 

“Hello,” was all she said, and pushed his hand away. 

“Are you okay? Can you get up?” He whispered. “C’mon, I’ll help ya—” Willie was grabbed from behind and tossed aside. 

“Allow me.” Barnabas approached his bride’s coffin and extended his hand graciously. “Good evening, Josette. I hope you rested comfortably.” 

“Yes, Barnabas,” she alighted as gracefully as one can while getting out of a coffin. “But I am not accustomed to this damp weather. I prefer it to be . . .” she searched for the correct word, “chaud? As in Martinique.” 

She spoke with a strange accent. Willie had been to the French Caribbean and that wasn’t how the natives sounded. She wasn’t really Josette, she only thought she was—or, by virtue of her recently acquired knowledge and high school French, pretended she was. But the woman looked stunning in a deep blue velvet gown, although it was slightly wrinkled and her hair was slightly mussed. 

Josette felt inside the coffin and produced the diamond necklace Barnabas had previously given to her. Ignoring Willie, she allowed the vampire to attach the clasp in the back. She didn’t look like she particularly wanted to be rescued. 

“My deepest apologies,” Barnabas said. “I shall take you upstairs and build a fire as soon as we have concluded our task at hand.”

“I-I can do that,” Willie ventured uncertainly. “Build the fire.” 

“Indeed. Now you would like to helpful.” the master clamped his hand on Willie’s shoulder. “Would you like to try obedient? And respectful?”

“But I d-didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Not really. I’ll fix the window.”

“A heartfelt apology would have been the appropriate response, but the time for that has passed. You are a coward and a cretin.” Barnabas pushed him toward the work table, from which the tools had been removed and in plain view lay Willie’s razor strop. 

Willie turned to run as the vampire nabbed him by the hood. In a flash, the boy wriggled out of his jacket but his escape route was blocked. He darted under the table and scrunched up tight against the wall. 

Josette tapped her foot. Barnabas sighed. “Willie.”

“Just kill me!” came a muffled voice from the beneath the table. 

“Yes, you would like that, would you not? But then you would not have learned your lesson, which is long overdue.” Barnabas reached under and dragged Willie out by his ankle and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t disgrace yourself more than necessary.” The vampire thrust him face down on the table, knocking his head on the wooden surface.

“Barnabas, must you?” Josette pouted. “It’s dinnertime.”

“Yes, my dear, but I’ll be brief.” Willie tried to bolt when the vampire turned to his lady, but Barnabas slammed him back down without a backward glance. “However, I shall be master in my own house. The more consideration I show this man, the more he abuses his position. My patience is at an end.”

But Willie had no intention of learning a lesson, no matter how brief. He had overcome all of the obstacles, then Barnabas tricked him and changed the rules. It was unfair, all of it, and his temper exploded. Willie hollered at the top of his lungs, pounded the table with his fists and kicked viciously, barely missing the master more than once. Barnabas calmly held him in place until the tantrum had exhausted itself. 

“If you are quite finished--” The vampire pulled out Willie’s T shirt from his jeans and with a single gesture, ripped it up the middle, exposing the boy’s bare back before retrieving the strop. “We may begin.”

The first stroke landed just below his shoulder blades, but now he refused to make a sound. The leather strap continued to leave stripes of searing heat, and Willie bit his lip to keep from crying out, but a gasp involuntarily escaped. 

“And yesterday you were so brave,” Barnabas punctuated his sentence with a blow to the seat of his pants. “I hope today you are repentant.” 

There was no response, so the whipping continued. In fact, the vampire aimed a succession of blows to the same spot, his arm falling into a rhythm, as he hit his stride. At length, Willie released his grip on the table edge as his knees began to buckle. 

“I say, are you repentant?” Again, his question went unacknowledged. 

“Barnabas, you said this would be brief,” Josette interjected impatiently. 

“You’re right, as always.” He picked up Willie by the hair and thrust him in the lady’s direction. “Does he look repentant to you? I can’t quite tell.” Hot tears streamed down Willie’s face. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Do please get on with it. Je suis fatigué of this—nonsense. Next I think you will be taking me to public executions.’’

“Very well.” Barnabas turned the servant around to face him. “Are you repentant?”

He allowed Willie to pull away. Breathing heavily, the boy snarled, “Fuck you, freak.”

The vampire slammed him across the face with the strop, sending Willie to the floor. Barnabas’ hand trembled as he forced himself to regain composure. 

“You are trying to provoke me into killing you, but I will determine your destiny, not you. When I decide to end your miserable life, it will be a blessing for both of us.” 

Willie was on his hands and knees, his ear ringing from the blow. “At least I _can die._ But you’re gonna be an asshole forever.”

Barnabas raised the strop again but Josette held up her hand to stop him.

“Is this how a gentleman controls his temper? You are no better than he is.” 

The vampire cast the strop aside and seized Willie by the arm, dragging him across the dirt floor from the room, through the root cellar, down the two stone steps, and the dairy cellar. The iron door swung open, and he flung the servant inside the wine cellar. 

“I shall assume you are not yet repentant.” Barnabas locked the door and left. 

Willie landed on the desk chair, toppling it. Dark. Get rid of the dark. He felt his way up the desk to the oil lamp and, pulling a Bic from his pocket, lit it. It was nearly dry. He sank to his knees in despair. 

“I don’t know what that means!” Willie pounded the dirt foundation with his fist. “I’m stupid! I’m a stupid—fuckin’—loser—piece a’—shit! I don’t need you to tell me that!”

He looked around the room for something sharp—not the lamp—a bottle. Willie scrambled to the shelves and, grabbing the closest wine container, smashed it against the stone wall. He held up the broken bottleneck while feeling his neck for the familiar location of his jugular vein. 

_ Oh, stop it. Put that down. _

“No! I hate this! I wanna die!”

_Do not make me come back down there._

Willie erupted with a primal scream as he flung the broken bottleneck across the room. 

_You’re acting like a child. Go to bed._

Willie slammed himself against the door, and pulled on the bars, “this is how a crazy fuckin’ lunatic acts!”

When there was no response. 

Willie pulled off the remains of his torn T shirt, held together now only by the binding at the neck. The picture of a skull with a crown of roses smiled back at him. The grateful dead. Jason had bought him that at a Goodwill thrift shop in Scranton, Pennsylvania, seven or eight years ago. It was his favorite shirt and Barnabas trashed it, just to be mean. 

Willie trudged over to the bed and collapsed onto it, pulling the cotton blanket over his head. The vampire had once told him that a slave had no rights, could own nothing, apparently not even the right to end his own life. 

_But, guess what, you can't control everythin'; you can't change what I think or stop what I say. So, eat bat shit and die, you bloodsucking bastard._

Depleted of fuel, the oil lamp died instead. When faced with an unpleasant situation as a child, Willie would take his mind to another place and pretend it away. Tonight, however, the young man was hard pressed to conjure a light-hearted fantasy. He just wasn't in the mood.

"Vicky?" he said to the empty darkness. "I'll take that Bandaid now."


	14. The Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While is solitary confinement, Willie meets Collinwood's favorite little ghost and discusses with Barnabas his unique perspective of Hindu philosphy.

Willie woke up just a few hours later, and remembered where he was. Feeling drained, both physically and mentally, he lay in the dark for several minutes, listening to a couple of mice gnawing at something across the room. 

_Shit._ He had forgotten to shake out that blanket before dropping into bed last night. Now he would probably end up covered in flea bites, and just the thought made him start to scratch. That’s when he realized the bed sheets were covered in crumbs—or something. Willie pulled out his lighter and surveyed the room. On the little writing desk sat his old flashlight and a solitary candle in its holder. He lit it up. 

The bed was sprinkled with flaked, dry mud from Willie’s pants and shoes. However, on the floor was a pile of clothes which had fallen from the chair when the young man had tumbled into it last night. There was Maggie’s freshly washed black dress, his windbreaker (which he had given her to keep warm) and—his white terrycloth robe. In a flash, he pulled off the mud-encrusted jeans, tossed them in the corner next to the ripped T shirt, and donned his security blanket. There was nothing as soft and warm.

Armed with his flashlight, the cell’s new tenant investigated the one hundred or more bottles of wine lined up on shelves like an alcoholic library. One of them might make a decent distraction so, with his switchblade, he demolished the cork in a German Riesling and helped himself. 

_Damn!_ It tasted like old vinegar, and he spat it out on the floor. Guess it went bad from sitting there so long. After all, wine comes from grapes, and fresh grapes taste better than old grapes any day. The next bottle was called burgundy, and that tasted better, but Willie was famished and wondered how long he would be in solitary and when his next meal would be forthcoming. 

“Food is a very important thing,” he explained to the bottle, “and Barnabas doesn’t get that. Ya know why? ’Cause it’s not about him.”

He peeked over into the water pitcher, which was half full. Maybe he could make it last—

How long would it need to last? The young man wrapped himself in the blanket and chugged the fruity red wine. _Shit._ He shouldn’t have sworn like that to the boss, but Willie was pissed off because the master kept using that word, and he didn’t know how to answer the question. Barnabas knew that; but he took every opportunity to demean his servant, make him feel ignorant and worthless. 

And Little Miss Maggie had just stood there, looking all bored and whiny. Or was she really Josette now? That was an interesting question. Had she succumbed to the vampire’s will or was she a smart cookie pulling a con job? Not for personal gain, but an act of self preservation. Barnabas must be wondering the same thing; That’s why he had her stay and watch while Willie got walloped. It was one of his tests. Of course, Miss Josette would be noncommittal, but sweet Maggie Evans would’ve stopped him. No. The boy shook his head. Even assuming she did give a flying shit about Willie, if she was scamming the vampire, Maggie couldn’t risk blowing her cover, Willie understood that. It’s every man for himself. Jason always told him that. 

Willie opened another bottle. A sweet Madeira from Portugal, which was past its prime, but the young man was no longer concerned. 

Okay, so Barnabas was pissed, but it wasn’t the first time, and it could have been a whole lot worse. Just a couple of bruises afterwards, it hardly hurt at all. Certainly better than getting clobbered with the cane, which often resulted in concussions and scars. That cane haunted a recurring nightmare, in which Willie was attacked in the woods by a gigantic silver wolf. The beast never killed him, but would tear him to pieces, then lie down next to him and calmly lap up the blood. Willie would wake from these dreams screaming in a tangle of blankets, but the noise never bothered Barnabas. If it did, he never mentioned it. 

With nothing else to do, Willie started opening and sampling other bottles and discovered certain vintages of cabernet sauvignon from Bordeaux were still quite drinkable, and chilled to just the right temperature—50 degrees according to the thermometer on the wall. Finally he began to get drowsy. 

Willie went back to bed with his latest companion, an 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. It would have pleased him to know he had just put away some very expensive grape juice. 

+++++

“You mustn’t sleep in here. Father will be very angry.”

The room weaved in circles before his eyes found focus on an iridescent little girl was standing next to his bed. She seemed to flicker in and out with the light of the single candle she held. The child wore a long dress and mop cap. She was oblivious of hot wax dripping on her hand, or through her hand.

“I brought this because I know you are afraid of the darkness,” she said. 

Willie sat up, not sure if he was dreaming. “You’re Sarah, aren’t ya? I seen your picture in a book. You move stuff around in the nursery upstairs.”

“And I know you. You put away my toys every night.”

“Well, somebody has to,” he smiled. 

“Have you seen my friend, David? Where is he?” she placed the candle in its holder on the writing desk. 

“He misses you, but he can’t come here anymore; it ain’t safe. You haveta go play with him at the other house.”

She crawled into the bed and snuggled up to him, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Uh, kid? This is a little uncomfortable…”

“I’m lonely and I’m cold.” 

“Yeah, but…” Nonetheless, he tucked her into his blanket. 

“Do you have a little girl?”

“No—I have a sister; she’s about, I dunno, maybe your age.” He dimly recalled his mother’s photograph with two smiling children, flaxen curls and rosy cheeks. He couldn’t remember their names. 

“Is she pretty?”

“Oh, yeah.” He patted her cascading brown locks. “She looks just like you.”

“I have a big brother.”

“I know. He’s my…boss.”

The ghost began to hum a childish tune as she rocked herself in the man’s arms. 

“There was a pretty lady in here who sang songs with me. Where did she go?”

“She’s in the other room—with Barnabas.”

The child’s expression visibly went on the alert. “Will she marry my brother?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I dunno what’s goin’ on.”

“Father will be angry! When he shouts, it makes Mother cry.” Sarah shook her head, gripping the boy tighter. “He says Barnabas is too young; he’s not even finished school. If he disobeys, Father will punish him again. He is so strict with brother.” She began to weep. 

“But that was a long time ago. He’s not that young anymore.”

Sarah looked at the litter of empty bottles. “Take care. Father will whip you too for drinking his wine.”

“Nah, he said it was okay. You need to lighten up, kid.”

They sat quietly for a moment. 

“Would you do me a big favor? I dunno what time it is, I don’t even know what day it is, but if Barnabas is asleep, would you ask the pretty lady in the other room to bring me somethin’ to eat? There’s food in the kitchen cupboard.”

“Brother might not like it. He’s so different now; it frightens me.”

“Oh, no, Barnabas loves you more than anythin’. He could never be mad at you. But just to be sure, don’t tell him, just the pretty lady, okay?”

“I like her.” The ghost started to hum again. “Will you sing with me?”

“You don’t wanna hear me sing, kid. If you weren’t already dead, you’d wish you were,” Willie laughed, but stopped when he saw the forlorn expression on the child’s face. “Alright, knock it off, Sad Sack. Tell ya what, when I get outta here, I’m gonna fix up your nursery real nice. I can make your rockin’ horse work again.”

The little girl finally smiled up at him, and with that, Willie closed his eyes and dozed. _This is how Maggie went bat-shit crazy._ He woke a short time later, slumped awkwardly to one side, clutching an empty bundle of blanket. 

_Whoa._ Pounding headache. _Shit, no more of that red wine._ The candle had extinguished itself, so Willie felt his way along the floor and retrieved his flashlight, despite the fact that the room would not stay still. Upon completion of his morning ablutions, which consisted of puking into the chamber pot, Willie spied something across the room. On the floor by the door was a can of tuna fish, as if it had been dropped through the window. The young man staggered over and picked it up. He grabbed the bars, yelling out the door.

“No! Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? I need a can opener!”

+++++

When next he woke, the flashlight was almost spent. His gaze made its way back to the door, hoping that the food fairy had brought him a can opener. Instead he discovered a sizable chunk of old cheese lying on the ground, being feasted upon by his rodent roommates.

Willie brushed off the dirt and shoved it in his mouth, wondering if there was a proper wine to drink with green spots. Maybe it was the kind of cheese that was supposed to have mold. Not that it mattered. 

The remainder of his day (or night) was relatively uneventful. In the drawer of the writing table Willie found a stash of long blue candles and lit one. He spent some time banging his shoes against the iron door and scraped the last vestiges of dried mud from his sheets and pillow. Eventually he opened another bottle of wine out of boredom. 

“Don’t forget I’m still in here!” he yelled out the window. “How much longer do I haveta stay?”

His water was almost gone and the chamber pot was almost full. 

Willie knelt on the floor with a choice pinot noir and the candlestick. He pulled the wine ledger from the table and started to page through it. It was a list of vintages and numbers and dates, boring. On the third page there was additional writing scrawled across the original entries. 

_To whoever finds this—my name is Mary Margaret Evans. My father is Sam Evans at 42 Fleet Street in Collinsport, Maine. Please tell him that I was here. It is November or December 1981._

He turned the page.

_I was kidnapped by Barnabas Collins and Willie Loomis. Demons. Criminals. They are keeping me prisoner in a basement on the Collins Estate. Collins has assaulted me many times. The other one pretends to help me but does nothing._

He turned the page. 

_They are trying to brainwash me. They want me to think I am a dead woman named Josette DuPray. I’m going crazy in this room. I know I am, but I won’t give in. I will never go along with their sick fantasy. I will die first._

He turned the page. 

_I am not Josette._   
_I am Maggie Evans._   
_I am Maggie Evans._   
_I AM MAGGIE EVANS._

He turned the page. 

_They are planning to kill me, but they won’t bury me when I die. Barnabas Collins is a VAMPIRE and wants to make me into one too. We will walk at night and sleep by day in coffins. If you find those coffins, destroy me and destroy him. Drive wooden stakes through our hearts, cut off our heads, then burn the bodies._

He turned the page. 

_This cannot go on. This cannot happen again. Destroy the MONSTER._

He turned the page. There was nothing was vicious scrawls across the paper. The page after that was blank. The boy found a fountain pen in the drawer and, after some prodding, convinced it to bring forth ink. He printed in careful block lettering. 

_I’m sorry Maggie._   
_I wish I could of helped more_   
_—Willie Loomis._   
_I wish I could tell you but I can’t now. I love you forever. No matter what._   
_PS: Please ask me to sleep with you again. When your not drunk. Either way._

He hid the book in the back of the drawer. 

+++++

Willie woke to find a lit candelabrum and a still, dark figure sitting in the chair next to his bed. 

“Geez, Barnabas!” He jumped back. “I wish you wouldn’t watch me sleep. It’s creepy.”

“You were resting so peacefully for a change, I hesitated to disturb you. Your water is depleted, and I thought you might have use for more.”

Willie took the glass and moved instinctively to the foot of the bed, where he sat, leaning against the corner wall. 

“You got anythin’ to eat?”

“No, but I see you’re doing an excellent job of plowing though my wine. On reflection, this was probably not the ideal location in which to discipline you.”

Willie emptied the glass. “I didn’t figure you cared, since you can’t drink it.”

“I plan to sell the collection.”

“Some of it’s no good anymore.”

“In certain cases, even the bottles are valuable, especially if the seal is unbroken . . . Oh, dear.” He picked up the empty Rothschild 1870. “You did treat yourself. I do hope you enjoyed this, it was worth $11,000.” 

“Yeah, I guess it was alright . . . I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know it was special.”

There was a pause.

“The odor is dreadful,” the vampire said at length. 

The servant shrugged apologetically. “That’s because there’s a pot of piss and puke under the bed.” Barnabas held a scented handkerchief to his face. “Ya know, this stink prob’ly isn’t good for your wine. Maybe I should get outta here.”

“Perhaps. Do you understand why you were punished?”

Willie took a deep breath. “I think so. Partly because of the shit I pulled—but part of it is Karma.” He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “I think I got a lotta Karma. Roger Collins once told me all about it. I know he’s a dick, but he’s also really smart. He went to two colleges. Anyway, Karma is when you do bad stuff, and later it comes back to bite ya in the ass. 

“Well, lemme tell ya,” the boy chuckled, “I was a rotten kid, and my mom never hit me, not once. Then when I was at school, I did a lotta shit and didn’t get caught; I hardly ever got sent to the office. Then I teamed up with Jason and—did stuff that was even worse.” He punched the pillow. “I shoulda run away, I meant to, but Jason said—well, it don’t matter, I was a stupid chicken shit. Made a boatload of money, though. It’s all gone now. We blew it in Panama.” Willie looked at the vampire. “What am I tellin’ you for? You already know everythin’ in my head, right?”

“Indeed,” he replied sardonically. 

“So, that’s the deal. Now I haveta live here with you, and that’s my Karma. And I know why you hit me all the time, it’s ’cause a’ your dad.” Barnabas looked at the boy incredulously. “Yeah, that was a shame; I heard he was a real prick. When I was a kid, all I ever really wanted was a TV set and a dad but, man, not like yours. I bet he never talked to ya or even brought ya a glass of water.”

Barnabas’ expression was concealed by his handkerchief. 

“Anyway, I understand all that, so please lemme out. I know you don’t care, but I’m awful hungry. Look, I still dunno what that word means, but—I think it’s _sorry_. So, um, I’m rependent about all that stuff, ya know, my behavior, ’specially when I almost broke your statue and said _fuck you, freak_. I got such a rotten temper, sometimes I dunno what comes outta my mouth.”

He looked to Barnabas, who was momentarily at a loss for words, for a response. 

“It has occurred to me that you are still quite inebriated,” he said at length.

“Ya mean drunk?” Willie laughed, falling over onto the pillow. “Damn straight.”

The vampire repressed a smile. “Boy, you would not have lasted one day in my father’s household.”

“I bet . . . I don’t get it. How can a person have all that money and still not be happy? Why would he want everybody to hate him like that?”

“I didn’t, I—” Barnabas shook his head. “Enough banter, if you please. I have never known a servant with such a talent for wasting time as you. You will pull yourself together and go back to work. This old house has been…adversely affected by your absence.”

Willie leaned over and looked him in the eye. “Are you sayin’ I’m important around here, and you need me?”

The vampire sighed. “I’m saying the fireplaces are filthy, and the third floor is flooded from the storm; as a result the second floor ceiling has begun to leak.”

“Okay. I can fix that.”


	15. Winter of our Discontent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas comes to regret his decision to transform Maggie Evans into the recreation of his incomparable Josette.

Willie spent the next few days mopping floors and hauling sopping wet oriental rugs down to kitchen where he strung them up before the fire and scrubbed them down. When the ceilings dried out he could sand and spackle and repaint them. It was back-breaking work, but the damage was his fault for not putting the buckets out when he should have.

His nights were spent hauling cauldrons of hot water from various fireplaces so Miss Josette could bathe. Afterwards, she spent additional hours choosing gowns and primping at the vanity. 

Barnabas would spend these endless evenings pacing in the parlor or library in anticipation of her arrival, only to lose patience and storm out of the house to take out his frustration on some unsuspecting blood source. But he wasn’t killing anybody. Willie kept a close eye on the newspapers for reports of dead or missing persons. Maybe a human victim would make him feel unfaithful to his bride. He was probably out in the woods, thinning the herd. 

When the lady did grace Barnabas with her presence, it was even worse. Josette would hold court from her settee, complaining incessantly in her broken French of the master’s shortcomings, the state of the house, the food, and the living conditions with which she was forced to cope. How could she possibly be mistress of a household with one slovenly servant? Then she would begin a listing of Willie’s inadequacies. 

Barnabas became one miserable, sullen, pussy-whipped vampire. Willie kept his head down and said nothing. He was pretty sure Maggie was pulling a long con, so he would play along. Did he catch the slightest glint in her eye?—the one that said, _gotcha, sucker._

During this time Barnabas had ordered Willie not to leave the Old House for any length of time because Miss Josette needed his attention during the day, lest she awaken and wander away. Or escape. But he had obligations to Mrs. Johnson, and he had to constantly replenish supplies from town because Miss Josette ate like a horse. So he locked the doors during the afternoon when she would most likely stay asleep and took off. After all, it was well established that she knew nothing about picking locks. 

Willie’s workday began midmorning with a fire in the kitchen, some hot coffee and a can of breakfast. That was followed by making rounds to the various mice and rat traps, which he emptied outside now that Miss Josette disapproved of rodent consumption. Next he would haul a bucket and mop to the dining room to clear the previous evening’s dishes. If the meals had pleased his mistress, they lay scattered on the table; if not, he found them on the floor or stuck to the wall amid broken china and crystal. 

On the master’s desk in his study would be a list of chores for the day, including his lady’s dining preferences, and the necessary cash. So, by noon, Willie would head off to the coffee shop, or the Blue Whale, or the pizza parlor, or the Chinese restaurant, and pick up two or three hot meals to go, along with a newspaper, before completing his other errands. 

Josette’s suppers were stored on silver domed platters, ready to be reheated during the course of the evening, while Willie spent his afternoons working on the mansion which was decaying faster than he could patch it. Except on Tuesdays and Fridays, when he snuck away to Collinwood for a few hours. 

Mrs. Johnson was royally pissed when Willie finally showed up after a long absence because chores put aside for him had piled up. She slammed a sandwich on the table and returned to her dishes, mumbling to herself. Willie ate in awkward silence, hoping she wouldn’t break their agreement. He had grown quite spoiled by the bathroom, laundry and kitchen privileges extended to him at his semiweekly visits. 

“Get out.”

Willie’s head came up. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out. There was no response. “What?”

“I said, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out.” Mrs. Johnson was abusing a roaster pan in the sink. “Go back to sailing boats or whatever it is that you do, before you’re old like me and it’s too late.” She turned to him angrily. “We’re just servants to them. Something they can use, with no more feelings than a toaster. They insult me and laugh at me, and what can I do? Where can I go?” She turned away and, leaning on the counter, buried her face in her hands. 

Willie rose and crossed the room to the old lady, feeling very uncomfortable. To his experience, you didn’t cry in front of someone unless you wanted something, and he had no idea what to give to her. Mrs. Johnson was not of type of person you hugged, and Willie was not good at the hugging thing. He guided her to a chair and poured the housekeeper a glass of water. 

Mrs. Johnson cried softly for a few minutes while Willie busied himself at the sink, scrubbing the pan. He had always thought of the lady as a pretty tough cookie, not the type to break down and get all weepy. Maybe he should leave, but dammit, it was laundry day, and he desperately needed a shower. 

“You can have it if you want. I’m just going to throw it out,” the housekeeper said finally, wiping her eyes with her apron. 

“What’s that?” Willie started to rinse. This place had hot water and Brillo pads. Talk about luxury. 

“Last night’s pot roast with potatoes, carrots and parsnips. No one even touched it. Mrs. Stoddard ran to her room, Miss Winters never showed up, Mr. McGuire made some insulting comment and took off, and I heard Mr. Roger laughing with the children; then he took them out to dinner and just left my meal sitting on the table. They have no respect.”

Willie shook his head as he started to towel dry the roaster. “Bunch a’ losers. I’ll take it. I respect your pot roast.”

“You’re the only one,” she retorted.

“Yeah, well, I’ve eaten in places all over the world. I once had a steak in a fancy hotel. And I think you’re a damn good cook—even better than my mom.” Since Willie had never sampled his mother’s home cooking, he assumed that to be a fair statement.   
“And your Mr. Collins is no better when he comes to dinner. Never touches a thing on his plate. Does he eat yours?”

“My what? Oh, cookin’. No. He’s, uh, on a special diet. It’s a doctor-medical thing.”

“Could use some red meat in my opinion; the man looks unhealthy to me,” Mrs. Johnson snorted as she lit a cigarette. “Three generations of my family have worked for the Collins family. My mother was the cook here for 30 years. That was when they had an actual staff to run this house, and didn’t expect one person to do everything.” She gave Willie a knowing look and he nodded in commiseration. “She taught me everything. And her mother was the assistant cook when she moved here from the Old House.”

Willie sat next to her. “Your grandmother worked at the Old House?”

“Oh yes, she was a parlor maid, and her husband was a footman. She left service when they got married and returned here at Collinwood when Grandfather died in World War I. By that time the Old House was closed up.”

“What was her name?”

“Berte, and my grandfather was Franz Fleischer. I never met him, but I remember grammy so well.”

“Ya know what? I have stuff I think belonged to them. Some letters written in German and a picture. Almost used them for kindlin’ a few times. I’ll bring ’em with me next time I come, okay?”

That brought on a fresh wave of tears as Mrs. Johnson reached over and hugged him. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Yeah, everybody tells me that,” Willie joked as he shied away and pulled on his jacket. “I can’t be talkin’ to you all day; I got work to do. Now don’t forget to pack up my pot roast. I’m eatin’ that for dinner and I ain’t sharin’.”

+++++

Fluffy snow fell on Willie as he worked in the rear of Collinwood preparing firewood. He brought logs from the Old House to do at the same time so that he could use the chainsaw. He was bundled up in work gloves and boots, red scarf, and hoodie (pulled up) under his windbreaker. It would have been nice to have that old parka again, but he was grateful to have his jacket back. 

The handyman looked up at the great house and noticed a tall figure watching him through the curtains at a second floor bedroom window. It had to be Jason or Roger. Someone with nothing better to do than watch other people work. Willie picked up the pace so he would have time for a hot shower before heading back home. As he pulled out of the driveway, a delivery truck pulled in with an eight-foot evergreen tied up in the back. 

+++++

Willie secured his contraband cuisine against rodent invasion and concealed it in coldest corner of the basement. Not allowed to have possessions, huh? Fine, he was prepared to devour the entire meal at one sitting rather than forfeit this feast to his vindictive vampire. 

Oh, shit. Willie heard the coffin lid creak open in an adjoining room, and he hadn’t even started the evening chores. He raced up the back stairs and threw a Duraflame log into the parlor fireplace. Next, the candles. They were burned down stumps, each holder was covered with messy waxcycles—and the replacement box was empty. 

Back in the basement kitchen, Willie rummaged through the storage cabinet when he heard harsh voices coming from the parlor upstairs. They were at each other’s throats already. Willie grabbed a carton of blue tapers and sprinted back to the battlefield.   
Josette’s shrill voice followed Barnabas as he burst through the entrance and barely missed colliding with Willie as the servant was about to enter. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I am not finished talking to you!” she shrieked. Barnabas shook with rage, but instead of responding to Josette, he backhanded his servant across the foyer and stormed down the hall, disappearing into the ballroom, from which, a few minutes later, some mutilated Mozart was heard. 

Willie sat dazed in a heap of scattered candlesticks, wiping the trickle of blood from his cheek. That always happened when his face made contact with the big, black ring. He started to pick up the candles, returning the unbroken ones in the box, setting aside the others to take later for his personal use. The servant was on his hands and knees as his mistress watched him from the doorway. She seemed thoughtful, even sad for a moment, until she realized he was looking back; then her face hardened with distain.

“Clumsy idiot, clean up that mess,” she sneered. “I want to eat now.” 

“Okay. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

“What are you smirking at?” she demanded. Over time, Willie noticed her French accent was fading. 

“Nothin’.” He looked away. _Except I’m havin’ pot roast for dinner and you’re havin’ a hot dog._

Willie managed to complete his chores and avoid both bosses for the rest of the evening, but when he retired to his third-floor bedroom at three o’clock the next morning, he could still hear their heated voices and slamming doors, even with the cover pulled over his head. 

+++++

_Mind your own business. Don’t get involved. Just ignore them._

Josette and Barnabas were fighting again. Willie tried to ignore the shouting match coming through the closed window as he shoveled snow from the front porch. 

“Not the vase!” Barnabas hollered. _Crash._

"Don't come any closer to me! I know what you want! I will not become a monster! I'd rather die than let that happen!" 

“A monster, madam? You are the definition of the word!”

Josette screamed and threw another fragile artifact. Willie jumped at the sound and decided to move away from the window to be safe when the front door crashed open. His mistress ran out the front door, down the steps and disappeared into the night, her cloak flying behind her. Willie waited for Barnabas to appear in pursuit. He peered in the window to see the master picking up the broken pieces of a treasured heirloom.

Willie cleared his throat. “Uh, Barnabas?” He stuck his head in tentatively. _Your prisoner just escaped._ “Miss Josette ran out the door. Aren’t ya gonna catch her?”

“She’s going to jump from Widow’s Hill,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What! B-b-but—ya gotta stop her!”

Barnabas sighed as he settled into the wingback chair, massaging his forehead with two fingers. “On the contrary, I thought she would never leave.”

Willie dropped his shovel and ran out the door. He leaped over the steps, skidded on the ice and raced toward the cliffs yelling, “Maggie! Maggie!”

The young woman was nowhere to be found. Her footprints in the snow went to the edge of the cliff. _“MAGGIE!”_

On his hands and knees, Willie looked over the brink but it was too dark to see anything. Waves crashed on the shore below. Snow fell in his hair. He dashed back and raced the truck around the hill to the beach, searching with his flashlight among the rocks and calling her name over and over. 

Her cloak washed up on shore. When Willie drove back to the Old House, Barnabas was waiting for him. 

“Well?”

Willie threw the sodden cape on the floor of the main hall as he kicked the snow from his boots. 

“That’s all I found.” He peeled off his jacket which was drenched in wet snow. 

“Get rid of it. Burn it. And tomorrow I want you to remove all traces of her; destroy any evidence.”

“I thought it was a scam, but she’s dead . . .”

Barnabas sighed at his simple-minded servant. “It was inevitable, Willie. The woman was mentally unstable.”

“No! Maggie was fine before she came here. We turned her into that crazy bitch!” He picked up the cloak, which was forming a puddle in the foyer. “She begged me to help her, begged me, and I wouldn’t do it. Not because a’ you. Because, deep down . . . I didn’t want her to go. I didn’t wanna be alone again. I was selfish, and now she’s dead.” He started to cry. 

“There’s nothing to be done about it now.” Willie buried his face in the water-logged cape as the vampire cleared his throat. “That is quite enough. If you cannot control yourself—go to your room.” Barnabas’ tone was dispassionate, though he looked uncomfortable. “I have—other, _important_ matters to tend to.” The vampire put on his coat and almost tripped on the snow shovel on his way out the door. “Do something with this spade!” He barked and exited into the frostbitten night. 

Willie picked up the shovel and was about to put it on the porch. Instead, he swung it full force into the marble statue, knocking it to the ground. The naked lady lost her head. 

“There. I bet now you’ll be sad.”


	16. Friends

Two days later the Collinsport Star reported that the body of a young woman identified as Maggie Evans had washed up on the beach. Barnabas read the front page article, then, without comment, handed the paper to Willie. When he was finished, the servant tossed it in the fireplace and watched the headline burn.

Barnabas was relieved at the closure, but Willie went into a deeper depression. He had hoped that Maggie was still alive, had conned them and escaped. But he accepted now that she really was dead.

 _Destroy any evidence_ , the boss had said. So Willie cleaned, compulsively scrubbing for hours on end, every surface, until the wallpaper began to disintegrate and the bristles on his brush were demolished. He threw out everything she had touched, forcing Barnabas to rummage through the trash to retrieve Josette's jewelry and music box.

Communication between servant and master was strained. Willie would not look at Barnabas and did not answer when spoken to. The vampire declined to mention the broken statuary. He merely replaced the figure on its pedestal _sans tete_.

The Collinwood residents were bustling about getting ready for Christmas, hanging decorations, planning menus and wrapping presents. Mrs. Johnson was too busy to sit while he ate lunch, which was just as well because Willie didn't feel like socializing.

The housekeeper seemed to have recovered her spirits since his last visit, and jabbered away as she rolled out the pie dough. She told him all about Maggie Evans' upcoming memorial service; everybody in town was going and they were serving a luncheon afterwards at The Blue Whale. Carolyn announced that she was marrying that punk rock fellow after all, and young David had started using some pretty spicy language. Mrs. Stoddard's wedding plans did not look all that promising. Mrs. J didn't much care for that Mr. McGuire and couldn't see why Mrs. Stoddard would want to marry someone like that. It was none of her business, but she certainly didn't seem very happy for someone about to tie the knot. And him acting like he owned the place already.

"I gotta go."

"Well, that was a waste of good food; you hardly touched your lunch. I guess my cooking doesn't suit you anymore."

"You know that ain't true. I'm just . . . I don't feel good."

"Are you too sick to shovel the back steps before you leave?"

"No. I can do that."

+++++

When Willie returned to Collinwood that Friday, he observed two police cars parked in front of the house. There must be something big going down, because Collinsport only had two police cars. His first instinct was to U-turn out of there but was wary of appearing suspicious, so the boy drove around back, as was his custom, and knocked on the service entrance door. Mrs. Johnson hurried to answer.

"Not today, son; I can't let you in. There's trouble brewing."

"W-what's wrong?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure going to find out."

"Well, here's your grandparents' stuff I forgot to bring Tuesday—"

Willie reached into his pocket to hand her the heirloom letters and photograph, but the door was already closed. Apparently the trouble was more important. The handyman was about to take them back home when he spied the servants' mailbox and placed them in there instead. Then Willie high tailed it out of there; he had no such idle curiosity where the police were concerned.

+++++

Later that day, Willie sat on the parlor floor surrounded with parts of the rocking horse and his tools scattered about. He was contemplating whether or not to remove the wheels, which were rusty, made the toy unbalanced and were totally unnecessary.

What were the cops doing at Collinwood? Maybe they were just collecting a donation for the Policeman's Ball. Maybe Roger got drunk again and started running over pedestrians. Maybe they were investigating Maggie's death. After all, she washed up at the bottom of Widow's Hill, which was part of the estate. Maybe they would come to the Old House next, asking questions.

Willie jumped out of his skin when the front door creaked open. Jason McGuire entered the room.

"Hey, can't you knock? There's a lock on the front door for a reason."

"That's never stopped me before." Jason crossed to the window and peeked through the curtains as if he were being followed.

"What are ya doin' here anyway? I thought you'd be on your honeymoon." Willie returned to his task, not really interested in whatever the Irishman had stopped by to show off or complain about.

"Yes, well," he shrugged, "there was a change of plans. Things didn't go exactly as I hoped."

"Oh." Willie looked up. "That's why cops were at the big house this afternoon. Shit hit the fan, huh?"

"In a manner of speakin'. I'm afraid I'll be makin' a hasty exit."

"Did ya get anything?"

"Only the clothes on m'back." Jason approached his former partner, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm goin' to have to ask you for a little loan to see me though."

"I-I don't have any money. I had that cash you gave me before, but I told you, I spent it."

Jason smiled and continued patiently. "Now, lad, I don't have time to play games. They're runnin' me out of town." He took the wrench from Willie's hand and placed it on the floor. "Now I've seen you in town doing hefty bank transactions and selling some impressive pieces of ice at the jewelry store."

The servant shook his head. "But none a' that's mine."

"I said, don't play games!" The affable demeanor dropped abruptly. "You know how to put your sticky fingers on it." He pulled Willie to his feet and was surprised when the young man's arms flew up to protect his face. "What's wrong with you? You've gone soft livin' up here."

"Barnabas gets mad if I touch his stuff."

"Which is nothin' compared to what's goin' to happen if you don't." Jason pushed him away in disgust.

"One a' these days, he's gonna kill me," Willie muttered as he rifled through the desk drawer and pulled out a checkbook.

"Are you tryin' to set me up? I can't use that. It has to be cash!" The Irishman's eyes were wild and desperate.

Willie produced the boss's billfold and found two $100 bills. He held them out to Jason who smacked them away. "We need to be talkin' about a lot more than that, mate. I want to know where those jewels are."

"Shit, no, I can't. I mean, I-I dunno—"

"Come on, boy, after all we've been through, it's the least you can do." Jason advanced on him, kicking the rocking horse over. Willie backed away, almost tripping over the tools he had left on the floor. He grabbed one and wielded it at Jason.

"Are you raisin' that hammer to me?" Jason looked cautious but did not retreat. "It's come to that now, has it? Come on, lad, put it down, so we can discuss this calmly."

"Get outta here. You gotta go. _Now_. It's gettin' dark."

His senior partner held out his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "Come with me then. We'll fill up our pockets and hit the road. Like old times."

"I can't. He won't let me." Willie lowered his head and the hammer in defeat. "You don't understand." Jason put his arm around him, then swiftly grabbed the hammer and twisted Willie's arm behind his back.

"What I don't understand is why ya want to leave your old partner in the lurch." Willie yelped in pain. "Do you know what your problem is, Willie? You never learned to share. It's always been _share and share alike_ with me, but not you." He dragged the boy backwards and clamped his hand down on the desk, raising the hammer in the air.

"Jason—don't—"

Willie screamed as the hammer came down, fracturing his little finger. "Now, are you goin' to do right by me, or do I break the rest of them? Because, when I'm done, you'll never use this hand again."

"No! Stop! I-I think there's a necklace downstairs. A diamond necklace. It's big."

Jason smiled and released the young man. "That's better. Let's have a look at it, then."

"I'll get it; you haveta wait here." Willie cradled his hand.

"I wish I could trust ya, Willie, but I don't." Jason grabbed the broken finger and squeezed, causing his partner to cry out in pain.

"But he's down there. Barnabas." Still gripping the injured hand, Jason dragged his friend into the hall. "Wait! Wait! I'll tell ya the truth. The real truth . . . He's dead, Jason."

McGuire's eyes bulged. "You mean you killed him? Is that why you're skittish as a cat?" Willie wriggled out of his grasp and backed away. "But doesn't it all work out then? Let's clean this place out." Jason laughed as he picked up the fallen money. "Isn't it ironic? I had Liz convinced there was a body buried in her basement, and you really have one. 'Tis shame there'd be no profit in blackmailin' you."

Willie backed into a wall and stood there, shaking his head. "He ain't that kind of dead," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Well now, Willie, how many kinds of dead are there?" The young man continued to shake his head, refusing to answer. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to go below deck and see for meself."

"No!" He took a deep breath and blurted it out. "Don't go there; I'm tellin' ya. There's a monster in the basement."

"You're off your chump, wastin' me time like this." He pushed Willie toward the steps. "Let's go; we're payin' your monster a social call."

Downstairs, Willie ran ahead to Josette's coffin and felt around in the lining. "Here it is." He held up the necklace.

"That's a pretty piece." Jason shoved it in his pocket. "What else do you have?"

"Are you kiddin'? Do you know how much that thing is worth?"

"I think it's the tip of a 24-carat iceberg. What's in the other coffin, Willie?"

"It's Mr. Collins. And if you're here when he wakes up, we're dead, you and me both."

"Enough of your blarney. I think the other jewels are in there."

"That's stupid! Who the fuck would keep jewelry in a coffin in their basement?" Jason pointed to Josette's casket. "Well, yeah, but she was always leavin' stuff layin' around."

"And who is she? I thought it would be _your_ coffin next to his." Jason chuckled as he ran his hands along the vampire's casket.

"Stop screwin' around!" Willie reached over to hold the lid down. "Listen to me, just for once. This is not what you want to happen. Go now, before it's too late!"

Jason grinned. "I told you years ago, when you have somethin' I want, I'll let you know. Now, let's take a look." He shoved the young man aside and opened the coffin lid.

Willie turned away. He refused to watch, but he couldn't help hearing Jason's screams, followed by the scuffle of his shoes as they tried to find purchase, then the disgusting slurping sounds. By the time the vampire had finished, his servant was sitting on the floor in the corner, covering his head. He looked up to see Barnabas standing over him, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief, not a hair out of place.

"You are in trouble, young man."

"Yessir. I know."

"Bury him in the alcove, behind the dairy cellar." He turned to leave. "Take the necklace and the currency from his pocket, and put them where they belong."

Willie went to the kitchen first and wrapped his hand in an ace bandage from the first aid kit before bringing the shovel downstairs. He wasn't sad or angry or scared—just numb. I guess that's what happens after a while. You don't feel anymore. He dragged the lifeless remains of his only friend into the lower depths.

Digging was difficult. The dirt floor was compact and Willie's hand was hot and throbbing. He should have made the hole deeper than he did, but it was too hard to manage.

_Anyway, who cares if it smells? This whole basement stinks anyway, especially the dairy cellar._

Willie covered the Irishman's body with his trench coat so the dirt wouldn't land on his face.

"Hey, Jason, it's boring here, when are we gonna ship out? Let's go back east. I think it's almost Christmas. Remember last year when we were in Hong Kong? God, we were so stinkin' drunk, we startin' dancin' in a parade right down the middle of the street. . . Mmm, I could go for some of that Cantonese pizza and a beer. What was it called? Too Soo Brew? Was that it?

"That was a damn good birthday. 'Cause you never asked, that's why. It sucks to have your birthday on Christmas. Well, most of the time, it didn't matter. I'm not into that holiday crap, 'cept that's the best time to pick pockets; you taught me that. . . You told me I should play the violin, 'cause I had good fingers or somethin'. You were just makin' that up, though. I know ya didn't mean it.

"Remember when you took me to that sex bar? You said they had the most talented ladies in the world. Hah! Ping pong balls. That was funny. I didn't know you could speak Mandarin. How many different languages do you know?"

Jason didn't answer. Willie finished the job and sat on the ground next to the plot. He picked up Jason's hat, his Greek fisherman's cap, and put it on, but it felt wrong. He took it off and placed it instead at the head of the grave like a marker. A bottle of rum would be a good thing to be swigging on right now, but that was stashed in the kitchen cabinet. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and laid one on the cap. The young man sang softly as he watched the smoke curl above his head.

 _"Black velvet was full of joy_  
 _for every Dublin sailor boy_  
 _She guaranteed to please_  
 _and the most that it cost you was five rupees." (1)_

"Shuddup, I know I can't sing, but I couldn't send ya off without a hymn. . . I'm really pissed at you right now. You fucked up my hand. Ya didn't haveta do that." He wiped his nose across his sleeve. "But you don't listen, you're always shovin' me around . . . always have to be the boss . . . Always goin' for the big score. . ."

_No smoking in the house!_

Willie put out his cigarette on the mound of dirt. "No more scores, Jason

_Meet me in the kitchen._

_Oh shit, here it comes._ Willie rose and brushed the dirt from his pants to afford himself an extra moment of mental preparation before heading to whatever punishment the master had in store for him: death or dismemberment. 

Willie stood in the doorway. There was no point in making excuses to Barnabas. As with all things, he knew exactly what had happened. But he could apologize. He remembered from before when the vampire thought apologies were in order. 

"Sir, I'm sorry about what happened."

Barnabas sat at the table, reading his newspaper by candlelight. Without looking up, he sniffed the air and motioned to the sink behind him. "Clean yourself." 

Careful to give the monster a wide berth, Willie sidestepped to the water pump, unwrapped his bandaged finger and washed his face and hands. Barnabas crossed his legs and folded his newspaper. The servant stood silently, gripping the towel, his heart pounding

"Sit."

Willie wasn't sure if he had heard him correctly, but Barnabas did not like to speak twice, so he rounded the table and slid into the chair opposite. The vampire pushed a basin across the surface to him. It was filled with melting snow. 

"For your injury." Willie thrust his hand in the bowl. The heat and throbbing were replaced almost immediately with icy numbness

"Thank you," he said quietly. Willie's eyes scanned the room but could see nothing the vampire had brought with which to hit him. True, he could grab the fire poker or a rolling pin. One of those to the head and he'd be dead in a New York minute. So, why was he just sitting there?

"You realize that McGuire's death was unavoidable," the master said at length.

"I tried to stop him, sir, but—"

"But—?"

Willie lowered his head. "I'm a coward and a crouton." Barnabas looked at him incredulously.

"Cretin." 

"Whatever."

The vampire cleared his throat. "Although it would have been preferable to put considerations for my well being above those of that miscreant, I understand you still harbor feelings of loyalty and friendship toward him, however misdirected they may be." 

"Jason was my friend. He took care a' me

Barnabas raised a brow. "He was not your friend, and what he took care of was his investment."

Willie frowned. He didn't get the point of this lecture and didn't like where it was going. His left leg started to bounce.

"I do not want this evening's incident to bring on another bout of melancholy that will keep you from…performing your duties. The Evans girl was one thing, but this I will not tolerate." 

_I never skipped no damn chores, and you know it. I wouldn't talk to you and listen to your bullshit; that's what you're mad about._

Willie turned his head away to keep from answering back, but the vampire could read this thoughts. Barnabas banged his fist on the table, which made the servant jump.

"Do not change the topic!" 

"Okay, okay, I get it. You hadda kill him, but I can't just forget about it. He was my partner. You might think you know everythin', but you weren't there . . . He was the only friend I had." 

"Was that an act of friendship?" He pointed to Willie's throbbing hand. "Let me correct your distorted sense of amity: McGuire did nothing but use you for his own nefarious purposes. Were you so desperate for a father, you chose him? That man repeatedly lied to you, corrupted your morals, robbed you of your youth, and made you into an alcoholic and a criminal."

___Willie ran his fingers through his hair. "I think I was already what you said, an alcoholic and a criminal, before I even met him," he replied with feigned indifference._ _ _

___"You were an impressionable boy with weaknesses which he exploited."_ _ _

Willie squeezed his eyes shut. _Shuddup. Just shut the fuck up._

___He stood suddenly. Thrusting his chair back, he stomped toward the kitchen cabinet._ _ _

___"Sit!" Barnabas barked. Willie stopped in his tracks. "Do I need to repeat myself?" There was a pronounced frown on his face and growing irritation in his voice. The young man returned to his seat. "You will no longer drown yourself in rum when faced with an unpleasant thought or situation. Therein lies your problem."_ _ _

___Willie slumped in his seat, smoldering with resentment for this know-it-all who, quite honestly, knew it all—every dirty little secret._ _ _

_Is that what this is about? You want me to stop drinkin'?_

___"I want you to acknowledge that although your youth was deplorable, it is in the past, and one cannot—"_ _ _

___"Oh my god, I can't believe you're gettin' on _my_ case about livin' in the past," the boy blurted. "And havin' _daddy_ issues." The vampire glared at him. "Shit, I didn't mean to say that out loud."_ _ _

___"Now you've made me forget what I wish to say." Barnabas took a deep breath to regain his composure and tried again to convey his message. "What I want is for you to put aside this neglected and abused child, and become a man. Acquire some self respect."_ _ _

___"How can you tell me in one breath that I'm a slave, and then say, _go get some self respect_?" Willie retorted. "Everythin' you ever do and say to me is so I'll feel like a loser piece of shit."_ _ _

___"I am your master, and I am harsh when it is required. But, believe it or not, I have an interest in you, else you would have died that cold night in October. I see in you the potential to be much more than this sulking, selfish, immature delinquent, but first you must cut the ties that bind you to that course. That necessitated the removal of Jason McGuire."_ _ _

___Willie took a moment to interpret this latest lecture. "Wait. Did you make him come here on purpose?"_ _ _

___Barnabas smiled. "How could I force someone to act against their will?"_ _ _

___He stared at the vampire. "Are you kiddin'? Ya do it all the time."_ _ _

___"Mr. McGuire followed the path of his own evil intentions. I only allowed it to happen. And now Karma has, as you would say, bit him in the ass."_ _ _

___If that was intended to break the tension, it worked. Willie burst into laughter at the boss's use of common language. Still, he felt conflicted._ _ _

___"I know, so Jason was a rotten partner. He said _share and share alike_ , but he always skimmed off the top. Always held the money, know what I mean? . . . He wasn't always nice."_ _ _

___"No, to steal a child from his mother is not very nice."_ _ _

___Willie shook his head. "I wasn't a kid, I was 15 when I ran away, just didn't look it . . . Ya see, my mom thought she still wanted me, but I-I didn't belong there no more . . . It wouldn't 'a worked out."_ _ _

___"Well, since one cannot travel into the past, we shall never know for sure."_ _ _

___Silence descended in the dimly lit room._ _ _

___"Barnabas? I need some money. When I got outta the slammer, Lyddie—that's my mom—she sent me a lotta cash to go home, but I used it to come here instead. I'd kinda like to pay her back . . . if I could."_ _ _

___"That matter has already been settled." Barnabas smiled, waving his hand dismissively. "Months ago, I had my solicitor wire the amount along with a note saying you had found employment and were resuming your world travels." The young man stared at him. "Well, I couldn't have a woman with the resourcefulness of your mother, tracking you down, now could I?"_ _ _

___"No." Willie was dumbfounded. "I guess not."_ _ _

___"Good. Then our conference is concluded." The vampire rose and tossed the towel and bandage across the table to his servant. "Oh, there is one more thing: your punishment."_ _ _

___Willie swallowed. He thought he had side-stepped that little detail._ _ _

___"I have stated that your energies would be better spent in improving yourself, rather than wallowing in self pity, as you are wont to do. I find it to be a most unattractive quality. Therefore, you will spend one hour of every day in my library reading that large book on the podium. It is a dictionary. You may also borrow volumes from the shelves if you take care when handling them. Am I understood?"_ _ _

___"Yessir."_ _ _

___Willie looked overwhelmed and dismayed. He wondered if it wouldn't have been easier to get hit._ _ _

___+++++_ _ _

___The next morning, the new student dutifully looked up random words and took notes for more than an hour before beginning his daily chores. Willie wasn't certain how much he could accomplish with a bum hand, but the vampire failed to take that into account. His instructions, as always, lay on his desk in the parlor. At the bottom of a typical list of cleaning projects and repairs, the master had written:_ _ _

_"You may want to begin by rereading Peter Pan. That should be simplistic enough for you to comprehend. BC"_

Willie pulled the fountain pen from the drawer and scrawled his response at the bottom of the page: 

_"I find your elitist attitude to be a most unattractive quality. WL"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) sung to the tune of _Greensleeves_ (chorus part)


	17. Comfort and Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmastime in Collinsport, and Willie could use some comfort and joy.

**December 24, 1981**

By midday, Willie's hand was the shape of a baseball. He was popping aspirin like it was candy and continually stuck his hand in a bucket of snow to bring down the swelling. He reached into the kitchen cabinet for a stronger painkiller.

_ If you touch that bottle, I will knock you senseless. _

Grumbling, Willie pushed the rum bottle back onto the shelf.

By evening, he could no longer stand the discomfort and drove into town to see Dr. Woodard. There was no need to leave a note for the boss. He would know where Willie had gone. Maybe it wouldn't matter if he tended to the matter quickly and came right back.

"You just caught me; I'm on my way out." Dr. Woodard removed his coat. "Well, let's take a look." Willie climbed carefully up on the examination table. "How on earth did you do this?"

"Hammer. I missed the nail."

"That's why eggnog and chores don't mix." The doctor chuckled at his own joke while feeling Willie's hand. "You should consider another line of work if you're so accident prone." He pointed to Willie's face. "That needed stitches."

Willie shrugged. He had no idea how to explain where the scar had come from, so he didn't.

"Well, you're going to have to go to the hospital and get this set."

"No, I can't do that. Fix it now."

"That's not how we do things. This isn't a battlefield. You need anesthesia—"

"No, I don't. Just fix it, will ya? I gotta get back. I'll . . . lose my job."

"I'm sure Mr. Collins will understand."

"He won't. Please. _Please._ "

Dr. Woodard checked his watch. "You're going to make me late. I have to pick up the missus for church." He set Willie's hand on his table, felt around for a second and then pushed. Willie brought his other fist down on the table a few times but he didn't yell.

The doctor rewrapped the patient's hand and fixed him up in a sling. "You should go over to the hospital tomorrow. Well, not tomorrow of course, the next day, get an x-ray and a cast put on this."

"Okay. Thanks, Doc."

"How would you like to do me a favor, young man?"

"Sure. Ya want somethin' fixed?"

The doctor laughed. "Not with your track record. You're going to take it easy for awhile. Actually, I was thinking about the house call I made for you at Collinwood—back in October, I believe it was. You had hypothermia, blood loss, among other things." Willie nodded. "Well, I have another patient with similar symptoms, and there's something very strange in her blood, something I can't identify."

"You're talkin' about M-Maggie Evans. But she's dead, ain't she?"

"Uh, yes, I know. But I'm still studying her blood sample, and I'd like to have one of yours to compare it to."

"You wanna take my blood?" Willie shook his head. "Sorry. No can do. I—don't like needles."

"Come on, it'll just take a minute. You just let me set a bone, but you're afraid of a pin prick?"

Willie slid off the table. "You're gonna be late for church. You gotta go. And me too." He grabbed his jacket and ran out the door.

+++++

Light snow fell as Willie headed back to his truck, his broken hand tucked in the sling inside his jacket. The church bells rang out O Come, All Ye Faithful. Willie stopped and looked at the holiday lit and decorated church. A chorus of voices echoed from within the building.

_God rest ye merry, gentlemen_  
 _Let nothing you dismay_

On the lawn a towering evergreen twinkled with tiny white lights. Inside the fence was a manger scene with plaster statues and live animals: a cow, a donkey and some sheep.

_To save us all from Satan's power_  
 _When we were gone astray._  
 _O tidings of comfort and joy_

Willie detested churches, but this one looked kind of friendly, warm and inviting. A sanctuary. He slipped in and stood in the back, near a banner which read "Peace on Earth – Good Will towards Men." Except for Barnabas Collins, the entire town was in attendance. A few people turned around and gave him dirty looks. There was Burke Devlin with Miss Winters, Sam Evans (who had trouble standing) and Joe Haskell, Sheriff Patterson and his pudgy progeny, and the boardinghouse landlord and his wife. Mrs. Johnson was there fussing over a disagreeable-looking young man. Guess ole' Harry got paroled. Willie wondered if the housekeeper would give his job to her son now that he was back. Nepotism was a word he had just learned.

Attention to Willie was diverted by the arrival of the Collins family. Heads turned and whispers rippled across the rows as Roger, Mrs. Stoddard, David, Carolyn and Buzz, his Mohawk tinted red and green for the occasion, paraded up the center aisle to take their places in the first pew.

"Why, look, it's Elizabeth Stoddard. She hasn't left Collinwood for over eighteen years," Willie overheard in murmurs. Mrs. Stoddard was smiling and gracious, nodding to the townspeople as she passed, like she was the queen of England. You must be real happy now that Jason's gone. Well, he won't bother you no more.

Another woman had entered with the Collins clan, but instead of accompanying them to the front, she close to sit next to Mr. Evans and Joe. She was a middle aged lady with red hair, green pantsuit and a shrewd countenance. She surveyed the room while removing her gloves. Her gaze fell upon Willie standing in the back.

He quickly looked away. Why was she staring at him? He had never picked her pocket. Maybe she was in charge of this place and you weren't allowed to come in unless you were a member, like an after-hours club. He turned to leave when from the choir loft came the clear rich sound of a tenor soloist. He sounded like an angel.

_O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,_  
 _It is the night of the dear savior's birth._  
 _Long lay the world in sin and error pining._  
 _Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth._  
 _A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,_  
 _or yonder breaks a new and glorious morn._

Mesmerized by the music, Willie walked halfway up the center aisle and looked up behind him to see who could possibly sing like that. It was Bob the bartender, all dressed up in a dark suit and green tie. Willie closed his eyes as the hymn soared to a crescendo.

_O night divine!_

"Willie! Sit down; service is about to start." Mrs. Johnson hissed, tugging on his empty jacket sleeve. Willie then realized that he was standing in the middle of the church and people were glaring at him. Burke Devlin stood and strode down the aisle, looking like he was going to slug the young troublemaker. Willie turned tail and ran out the door.

+++++

The Old House handyman knew he was expected at home, but he didn't want to go back to that dark, cold, empty place. Not yet. Willie parked the truck down the path and walked over to the peak at Widow's Hill. He sat precariously near the brink, bringing his knees up close. A cold wind blew in from the ocean. The snow had stopped, and the clouds cleared to reveal hundreds of stars. He inched a little closer to the falloff; dirt and snow fell away beneath his sneakers.

Christmas was a bogus holiday. It was for people with friends and lovers and families and money to spend. Willie had learned from early childhood that it didn't matter if you were naughty or nice; Santa only visited rich children.

Willie's mind returned to those people sneering at him in the church. _Good will towards men_ —what a crock of shit. Towards everybody except Willie Loomis. He was reminded of the note pinned to his duffle bag the night those landlords threw him out of the boardinghouse. _Your kind not welcome here._

"Who'd wanna go to your stupid church anyway? I _hate_ church." He made a snowball and pitched it over the cliff. He should have picked some pockets while he was in there and looted the collection plate.

It was late. Willie knew he should have been home hours ago, but he was not ready to listen to more lectures and play the happy game with Pollyanna the vampire. He wondered why Barnabas had changed so much recently. He never gave a rat's ass before if his servant was despondent. Personally, Willie found life was more predictable when the boss was just a mean-tempered son of a bitch. Was it because of Maggie?

_I have another patient with similar symptoms._

The doctor had said have, not had. That sounded like a slip up. Maybe it meant Maggie was still alive, that she had faked her own death to throw off Barnabas. When you're about to jump off a cliff, do you stop in the hallway to grab your coat?

Alive or dead, he would never see Maggie Evans again. Not until she led a caravan of cop cars through the gates of Collinwood—or a mob of angry townspeople with torches. _Good. He deserves it. We both do._

The young man closed his eyes and tried to remember her kissing him. She did kiss him, she let him kiss her, and it was so close to developing into something more. Her hands fumbled with his belt buckle, his under her robe. She felt warm and soft—Willie opened his eyes. Who was he kidding? Maggie had never liked him. She just used him to accomplish what she had to do. Just like Jason had used him for his purposes. Barnabas was right. If Willie didn't drink so much, he would have realized that a long time ago.

Willie sat at the edge of the world looking into the abyss, without a woman, a friend or a bottle to bring him comfort or joy. He looked down over the brink. One little tip and it would be all over. On Christmas morning his body would wash up on the beach; that would be a present to everybody in town.

"But whatever would I do without you?"

"Light yer own candles?"

Willie wasn't startled; he was used to Barnabas appearing silently from nowhere. The vampire wore his wool Inverness coat and sported a new cane. This one had a thicker shaft and a curved silver wolf's head at the crook.

"You know I ain't goin' anywhere 'less you tell me to." _I got no rights. I'm nothin'._

"Perhaps someday I shall throw you off this cliff myself, but for now, I am content with things as they are," Barnabas answered casually.

Willie thought that this glib response was to remind the servant that he was being gloomy, which was exactly what the vampire had told him not to do, but he couldn't think of a clever reply, so he said nothing.

 _I could not have_ — Barnabassighed, unable to complete the thought. He tried again. "What I mean to say is you are—"

Willie looked quizzically at the master, who had never before been at a loss for words. "Don't go all queer on me. They talk about us enough as it is."

Barnabas reprimanded him with a tap of the cane. "I want you to know you are essential to me . . . and to the Old House."

His servant shrugged and looked away, unsure of how to respond to a sincere compliment. 

_That old house needs a lot more work. It's still a shithole._

_ It is a work in progress, as we all are.  _

"Guess so." He took note of the boss's replacement walking stick. "I see ya got a new Willie-beater."

"Don't be daft. This was custom made. I am certainly not about to let you break it."

"Oh. I'll just haveta stay outta trouble, then," Willie replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Barnabas smiled. "A resolution for the new year, to be sure."

"How you treat me is your Karma. How I react is mine."

The vampire's brow furrowed. _That was quite profound._ "Did you read that in one of my books?" he asked hopefully.

"It was in a fortune cookie."

Master and servant stood and sat at the precipice, listening to the crashing waves and the distant chime of the Christmas church bells playing It Came upon a Midnight Clear.

"Happy birthday, Willie."

Willie was silent for a moment. He was five years old, his beaming face illuminated by a tea candle sitting atop a cupcake at the Capri Garden Lounge, surrounded by Lyddie and a small collection of barflies, singing to him, each in their own key. Charlie toasted him and the hookers kissed his cheeks.

He shook his head. "Whatever. I don't do holidays." He scooted back from the ledge and stood, wiping the snow from his wet pants. Barnabas reached out to steady him when Willie's injured arm caused him to lose balance. Together they walked in the direction of the pickup truck.

"You know," Barnabas said, looking straight ahead. "I can heal that scar if you wish."

Willie considered the matter. "That'd be good—Wait. Would ya haveta lick my face?"

"Yes."

"I dunno." He grimaced. "I'll think about it."


	18. Epilouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet Christmas night at the Old House sets the stage for some humorous and unexpected adventures in the next story, Interlude. Stay tuned

**December 25, 1981**

Winter nights in Maine were long and dark and frigid, and the wind chill was particularly evident if you lived in an old house. One with gaping cracks in the walls, on top of a hill, next door to the Atlantic Ocean. But that didn't concern Willie this night. He had a private party, sprawled in front of the parlor fireplace, where the young man celebrated his birthday and Christmas in his own fashion: with a cigarette and a bottle of rum. Otherwise, the day had been like any other, except that he was limited in the chores he could perform because of his mending hand.

The town rolled up its streets on holidays. All the shops were closed; there wasn't even a newspaper published, and at sunset, Barnabas had fled to Collinwood with an armful of presents. For lack of other entertainment, Willie read a book. He chose _Candide_ from the boss's library because it was short, and Barnabas had told him it was full of action and adventure. With a pad and pencil beside him, the young man jotted down the words he would look up in the dictionary on the following day. On the top of the lengthy list was the subtitle: _Optimism._

Willie tossed his cigarette into the grate and pushed the bottle aside when he heard the front door open. He buried his nose in the volume as Barnabas hung up his coat and cane.

"I can smell that cigarette from here," echoed his master's voice from the foyer.

"I didn't wanna go outside, it's really cold and—" His eyes lit up. "Is that for me?"

Barnabas stood in the doorway holding a plate covered with aluminum foil. "Yes. Mrs. Johnson insisted I bring this," he sighed. "She continually looks at me as if I spend my time beating and starving you." Willie rose but maintained a respectful distance, his eyes not leaving the plate. "Why am I to blame if you choose to spend your grocery allowance on hard drink? All I hear from folk is what an excellent job you're doing with the restoration; they have no idea of what I have to endure in the process. You're lucky I don't tie you to a hitching post."

"I wouldn't get much work done then." _Oh, god, shuddup. You can see he's in a pissy mood. Do you want him to throw it away?_

"It seems to me you didn't get much work done today in any event," Barnabas snorted as he thrust the dish at his manservant and settled into his favorite chair. "Don't spill that food on my book, boy, it's a first edition. Take your meal into the kitchen."

Willie peeked under the foil cover. "It's freezin' down there. You said not to waste fuel, so I didn't—"

"Then take it to your room."

"But there's no—" Willie cut himself off, seeing that the vampire wanted to be alone. "Oh. Okay." He started to leave.

"Very well," Barnabas wearily conceded. "Eat here by the fire if you must."

The boy planted himself on the floor near the warm hearth and pulled eating utensils from his jacket pocket. Barnabas raised a brow.

"Just in case," Willie explained and dove fork-first into his Christmas dinner. It was cold, but no matter. There were thick slices of slightly dry ham covered in sweet, sticky goo; creamy scalloped potatoes; buttered peas and biscuits. It was piled high enough for two meals but both men knew that it wouldn't last the hour.

"So this gift was not unexpected."

"'Member you told me to always plan ahead." Willie strained his brain to remember the master's words. "Determine what'll be the—somethin'—outcome, then the possible one, and be prepared, somethin' like that."

"Don't you have a remarkable sense of recall."

Willie continued to ramble and shovel simultaneously. "Well, I 'specially 'member that, 'cause ya were whackin' me with yer stick while you were sayin' it."

Barnabas looked at him in disgust. "Close your mouth when you eat. Must you devour that like an animal?"

"'m hungry," he snapped unthinking, then noted the master's expression and gripped his plate possessively. "Yessir. I mean, no sir. I'm sorry. I'll shuddup now." Willie adjusted his pace accordingly.

The vampire sat back in his chair and inhaled the food's aromas. Another scent caught his nose. He looked around and spied the rum bottle behind the fire poker set.

"Willie." The master's voice became stern. "Did I not specifically forbid you to touch those spirits?"

"No, shur." Willie shook his head and held up a finger until his mouthful was chewed and swallowed. "No disrespect, sir, but you specific'ly said not to drink when I'm sad. _Unpleasant thoughts and situations_ , that's what you said." Willie shrugged. "Well, I'm not sad. Actually, drinkin' makes me very happy."

"You understood my meaning."

"No, sir, 'cause I'm stupid. I only understand what you tell me . . . and then not always."

"It seems to me that you are stupid only when it is convenient for you to be so."

Willie wasn't sure if he was expected to agree or disagree, so he simply nodded and finished his meal.

Barnabas picked up the book the boy had discarded to the end table. "Well, my stupid friend, what are your thoughts on Voltaire?"

Barnabas had just called him _friend _. He didn't mean it; he was being sarcastic.__

__"You mean that book? It's gotta lotta sex and violence. I didn't know you read stuff like that. I thought you'd read poetry or somethin', but there's some nasty shit—uh, stuff—goin' down in that story. Then they say, it's all for the best, and it's the best of all possible worlds. I don't get it."_ _

__"It is philosophical satire." Willie wrote those two words on his list._ _

__"So there's this young guy, and one rotten thing after another happens to him, and ya kinda wanna feel sorry about that, if he wasn't such an idiot—Oh, I liked when they went to El Dorado, 'cause there was gold and jewels in the street—then all these people keep dyin', like Dr. Pangloss and the brother and the girl; they're hanged and burned and chopped up, but then you find out they're not really dead. How are ya supposed to believe that?"_ _

__"There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."_ _

__"I guess." Willie set aside his empty plate, cleared his throat and began hesitantly. "Uh, B-Barnabas?"_ _

__"Yes?"_ _

__"I, uh, was wonderin' . . ." He chickened out and began a new topic. "How was the p-party?"_ _

__"Noisy. Crowded. Carolyn's fiancé serenaded us on the grand piano with rather unorthodox interpretations of Christmas carols. Quite an unusual young man, that Mr. Hackett." Willie smiled and nodded. "You're not going to do that thing with your hair, are you?"_ _

__"A Mohawk? No, sir. I'm more of a James Dean kinda guy, know what I mean?"_ _

__"No, I don't."_ _

__"Well, I guess it's like Voltaire. You just hadda be there." The significance of that statement was not lost on a man of multiple centuries._ _

__"They also have a most annoying houseguest who bombarded me with questions all evening. I was trying to hold polite conversation with Miss Winters, but this woman thwarted my every effort."_ _

__"Did she have squinty eyes and red hair? I saw her come in with the Collins family last night at that church; she was starin' at me. Hey, Barnabas, do ya think she's a cop?" Barnabas was unfamiliar with the term, so Willie explained. "Ya know, police, or maybe a detective."_ _

__"A _female_ officer of the law? Don't be idiotic. Miss Hoffman—that's her name, Julia Hoffman—claims to be some sort of author or historian, gathering facts for a book about my ancestral roots."_ _

__Willie sighed with relief. "Well, that's okay, ain't it? I bet there's a lot of stuff ya could tell her."_ _

__"If I had the slightest interest in doing so, then yes, I could. But the farthest thing from my mind is the continued acquaintance of that… that . . ."_ _

__"Hey, as long as she's not a cop." Willie took a swig from his bottle. "I keep worryin', sir, that we're gonna get in big trouble. Somebody's gonna find out about Maggie Evans, and they're gonna come get us. But it'll be durin' the day—you won't be here—and they'll just get me. . . "_ _

__He decided it was better not to finish that thought. It would certainly work out well for the vampire if Willie was the fall guy. He looked carefully at Barnabas. _Every man for himself.__ _

__"You mustn't let your imagination run wild. I assure you, there is no danger," but the master emphasized, "as long as we keep our wits and do not panic. I trust I don't have to _whack you with a stick_ for you to remember that."_ _

__"No, sir."_ _

__Barnabas deliberately changed the subject and adopted a lighter tone. "For some ungodly reason, they chopped down a perfectly good Norway spruce and displayed it in the middle of the foyer, bedecked in glittering ornaments and artificial lighting."_ _

__"That's a Christmas tree. Didn't ya never have a Christmas tree?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__"Wow." Willie looked surprised. "Yeah, well, me neither. 'Cept at the bar, where my mom used to work, they had this fake tree that it looked like it was made outta toilet brushes. There were presents underneath, too, only they weren't real presents, I found out, just empty boxes wrapped up. I know 'cause I opened one once. Bob put the same ones out every year, and after a while they really looked liked crap."_ _

__"Ah yes, Bob. The proprietor who knew you were drinking his alcohol. He felt pity for you, when he should have intervened."_ _

__Willie shrugged. "Sometimes it's hard to know what's the right thing to do. Real hard."_ _

__There was a brief silence as the young man emptied his bottle_ _

__"So, hey, uh—how 'bout if we lose this scar off my face? You said ya would," he said with deliberate casualness._ _

__"Is that why you're inebriated?"_ _

__Willie started to write the word on his list but then remembered hearing it before._ _

__"Well, yeah. I was thinkin' it wouldn't be too bad if I was passed out."_ _

__"I'm sure that event is imminent."_ _

__Willie curled up on the floor and dozed off to the sedative sounds of the crackling fire and the master turning pages._ _

__+++++_ _

__When Willie next awoke, he was lying on his back. His eyes fluttered opened to reveal Barnabas hovering over him._ _

__"Wha' the fuck," he mumbled incoherently._ _

__"This is ineffective," the vampire said with a furrowed brow as he dabbed his face with a handkerchief._ _

__Willie pushed the man away with no actual force and his arm flopped over. "Get offa me." He felt his head being moved to the side and the familiar pressure of punctures on his neck._ _

__Willie next regained consciousness cradled in Barnabas' arms. The vampire's suit jacket had been removed and his shirt sleeve pushed up. Willie tried to focus but the room was spinning. He reached up, put his arm around Barnabas for balance, and held on._ _

__"All is well," Barnabas said, gently removing Willie's hand. "But the wound is too deep, it does not respond." He remorsefully ran a finger along the scar on the young man's cheek. "I don't know what else to do." The master put the underside of his forearm to Willie's mouth, where it had already been punctured. "Drink from me," he said, holding the boy's head in place._ _

__Had Willie been fully awake or sober, his first reaction may have been repulsion. But, for once, the servant followed directions without question or protest. He grasped the vampire's arm and swallowed blood._ _

__**The End** _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Willie Loomis World Series**
> 
> _Little Willie_   
> _Globetrotters_   
> _The Maine Event_   
> _Changes_   
> _This Old House_   
> _Interlude_
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. Stay tuned for a redux version of Interlude coming soon, followed by #7, the final story in the series, title TBA.


End file.
